Moments
by EleanorKate
Summary: A series one offs and random stories...Moment number 14 - Lucky
1. Chapter 1

The sentence trotted around his head for the rest of the afternoon, causing him to break out in ridiculous smiles that other people must have thought him mad.

_"Underneath this raincoat I am practically naked"_

Even trawling through the docks in the pouring down rain was not going to wipe the smile off his face at her unexpected appearance early that morning.

He had been desperately hurt by her dismissal and repeatedly punished himself for the clumsy, nay rash, way he had proposed. There had been better plans for that moment and for two weeks he had taken any spare shift going so he would not have to sit alone in his lodgings for hours on end, not sleeping, barely eating and not confessing to a soul that he had lost her. There had been hours of thoughts and so many plans as to how he would propose yet in a panic the words had tumbled out and only made it worse.

Sister Bernadette had said 'hello' when he had seen her by the banana sheds and they passed the time of day in the vaguest way possible, not daring to address the issue of Nurse Browne.

As he perused the previous night's custody record, he heard feet walking across the tiled floor. Looking up he saw her. He'd tried to be standoffish, tried to be short with her, tried to sound uninterested but it was in vain. Trouble was he knew her enough now to know she would feel guilty enough without him compounding it. When it came to the bare bones of it, he loved her and regardless of how or why he had come to lose her, if she said the word he would welcome her back to his side with open arms. Pride didn't matter; the only thing that did matter was that he could not bear his life without her. So here she was, his brain at first refusing to engage with the fact that she seemed only to be wearing her raincoat until those words, what could only be described as a near on proposition, fell from her mouth.

She saw his face crack in response and relief flooded through her. He leant forward and kissed her and told her that he loved her because that was all that mattered.

"Shall we go out for supper tonight?"

She nodded, suddenly wanting to burst with joy. She needed to just sit and talk with him like they used to, for hours on end. How odd that they stuttering start that they had had their relationship was now (had been) filled with conversation, no floundering over words or discomfort, just ease.

"I could walk up to you? It will save you rushing," she suggested feeling just his fingertips touching hers as both hands lay on the desk.

He nodded again. "If it's not going to put you out".

"It won't" she replied, particularly as she would have tramped half way across London if he so required it of her.

After her night and early morning trip to the Police Station, she did not feel tired until she returned to Nonnatus, exhaustion suddenly hitting her as walked from the bike shed; those stairs up to the front door suddenly seeming endless. Thankfully, with nobody in sight she was able to run upstairs and change before anybody could ask any questions regarding the location of her uniform, even though she had a perfectly legitimate excuse for it. A spot of breakfast and then sleep was called for.

On her way up the stairs she glanced at the rota, noting that some kind soul had put her in the clinic that afternoon and not on call that night.

As she dressed there was an odd lightness in her heart. It could have been relief; it could have been confidence; it could have been foolishness at the decision she was to make about her future. She would marry him, have no hesitation in saying 'yes' when he asked again. She paused. Was it a question of 'when' or a question of 'if'? He had told her that he loved her but after all that she had done would he now hesitate? There was an ocean of difference between loving somebody and taking the decision to marry them, especially if they have already refused you. You may just think twice.

She slipped her dress over her head and pulled a cardigan from the drawer, spying the two photographs of her that bedecked the chest of drawers. She wondered for a moment what that little girl would think of her living in Poplar in amongst fallen buildings and poverty. That little girl only knew of lace dresses, horse-riding and boarding school not the grinding poverty of slums or having to deliver babies by fading candlelight. That little girl probably didn't think those things existed.

It seemed only now that she was slowly finding herself. All that education she had but how odd it was though, that the one thing she was completely uneducated in was men and this fictitious husband that society had told her she ought to acquire. She had been taught to cook and keep house to please this man, taught to sew to please him, but she had never been taught about providing her husband's other pleasures. Until she had studied nursing, she had learnt through whispers that she must tolerate her husband's behaviour, however unspeakable it may be, to provide him with spotless children and a regimented household. Society had told her repeatedly that this was her role and route to fulfilment as a woman and that was all she should expect.

She could cook this person's meals until he was fit to burst and sew button after button on his shirts, but as for what he would expect from her if they married she couldn't hazard a guess.

That was when it hit her; the thing that had been unconciously in the back of her mind from when she stepped out of that tenement. She sat on her bed suddenly forgetting breakfast. There was one barrier that was separating them and it certainly was not the 'done thing' but who would know? He loved her; she loved him. Could it really be that simple? It was not like marriage had never been mentioned. All her life she had craved being held, craved affection and here were both if she wanted to take them.

He had been so patient with her and now, reflecting on the past fortnight, she had been so cruel to him. She had to apologise; had to make it up to him and by giving the whole of herself to him she hoped he would realise just how much she wanted to be part of his life.

The difficulty was however it all made her feel inexplicably stupid. Unmarried women were not meant to know the intimacies and intricacies of a marital bed but she surmised that at least she had the advantage of her medical books and that tattered copy of Married Love that had been passed secretly around her boarding house avoiding the gaze of the Matron.

She had been quite horrified too some years ago, shortly after she had qualified as a nurse, when one of her prospective sisters in law took her to one side and asked her if she could explain something medical to her. Chummy had assumed it might be to explain an illness or symptoms but she was quite alarmed when in quiet tones she was asked how she might come to have a baby after she was married. She also remembered her sister in law's mystified and alarmed face when she explained as delicately as she could. The ordeal of explanation, albeit using medical terminology and not mentioning perplexing concepts as 'love' or 'desire' that she did not truly understand herself, was thankfully less shocking that her finding out that a 25 year old woman had not known how a child was conceived.

She had been wearing her metophorical nurses uniform when she had been asked that question, but it had not been her time. She had said the word "brave" to him in the Police Station and that time had come.

_Later that day…._

From where they were tucked in the booth, with their backs to the rest of the diners, they were out of sight. Camilla preferred it that way, to sink into the background; to not stand out. They sat side by side taking up as little space between them as possible, stealing kisses when they thought nobody could see. As they drank coffee, his hand crept onto her knee and her first reaction was to leave it where it lay.

"Shall we take a very slow walk back?" he asked, draining the last of the cup in front of him.

"Yes, but.." she hesitated. "Not straight back to Nonnatus".

"That's okay. We can take a diversion along the canal and walk very, very slowly".

"No", she said, pausing before lowering her voice, half wondering what on earth he would think of her saying this. "I want to go back with you".

"I've every intention of walking you right back to the door, don't worry about that". The penny still had not dropped. She knew they were at cross purposes but how on earth do you say it?

She took a calming breath. "I know you will, but… I want to _stay_ with you".

He daren't think what he hoped that meant and for a moment he did not know quite what to say to her. Despite the fact she had turned up at the Police Station dressed in very little, he thought it could possibly have just been a joke to grab his attention. It certainly had done, but there were no chickens being counted by any means.

He took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

"I don't want you to do or say anything just for the sake of pleasing me".

"I'm not" she replied, suddenly feeling the oddest sense of confidence in herself. Now she had said the words to him all the nervous anticipation she had built up in her head washed away. This was one of her faults, one thing she always did – imagined the very worst to be found to find reality was not so frightening.

They walked from the dining rooms the mile and a half back to his lodgings, hand in hand, passing no more than a trickle of people. The air was not particularly tense although Camilla certainly had that familiar feeling of dissociation creeping up on her as she got closer to 16 Empson Street. She felt like she was walking on clouds, tethered by his hand, but floating high above herself feeling oddly detached her head swimming even though not a drop of alcohol had crossed her lips.

She watched him open the front door to let them in, passing his sleeping landlady who had fallen into slumber in her front parlour.

"Will she mind me being here?" Camilla whispered as they crept up the stairs, her following his sign language not to stand on a certain step that he nearly put his foot through the night before.

"Judging by the beer bottles on that table, she'll be out for the count for hours" he said, quite used to finding his landlady in various states in the middle of the day and the arguments with her husband that he could hear through several floors.

They crept the 3 flights of stairs to the attic rooms he inhabited and she stood behind him as he unlocked the door. It was not as though she had not been there before but that had been for moments.

"Sit down" he said, as he took her coat from her and went to hang it up. She noted the armchair by the un-stoked fire and the settee. She chose the latter and he came and sat beside her, taking the hand that was somewhat awkwardly laid on her lap.

How on earth does one say what one is thinking in these types of situations? Not that she had ever been in this situation before. She had promised herself she would be brave; she was resolute. Jenny was right – she could have him and it was only her that was stopping it.

She turned to him.

"I am sorry"

"No apologies necessary".

"No, let me say it. I've spent my life doing what other people want of me and I pushed you away because that was what Mater wanted because my choices did not, _do not_, suit her. If you hadn't smiled at me in the Station this morning..."

He stopped her.

"I don't want to know what you might have done as it will never happen. You know I would like you to make here a home with me".

She nodded. "I do".

"I had plans to propose to you properly".

"No, Peter" she responded quickly.

He was about to object, hearing those words from the steps of Nonnatus again, when he felt her hand squeeze his to cause him to quieten.

"Propose to me another day, just not now".

He was confused and still refused to let the penny drop just in case he had misread the reason she was seated on his settee. Her logic, to her was simple. Having little clue as to men's habits, she could easily have been a disappointing wife and this was his chance to walk away without feeling any form of obligation. She saw a flicker on his face, desperately trying to read her expression.

"I was angry with you" he said, "but then I realised that for the past 2 weeks I've not been able to bear my life"

"I know we're not married and I should not even be considering this, but I don't want to wait for you to ask me to marry you"

A small, but unsure, smile greeted her feeling his hands snake around her throat, pulling her towards him with just the gentlest of kisses. The hand that had been cradling her head had moved to her neck and she was more than sure he could feel the anxious pulse. How she wished it more than anxiety; or at least something that she could say could recognise as some other emotion.

She could feel herself becoming lightheaded at what she was about to do; the enormous step she was about to take for herself as she drifted away feeling her shoulders touch the settee. She heard him say that he loved her. She was coming round to believing it could be true especially as he was littering her face with kisses. Regardless of love however, she was tired of being rational and doing the right thing to please other people and it was time to do the right thing for her and this included giving herself to him.

How would she have looked though? Her hand having pulled his shirt from his belt, dress twisted almost to her waist, being kissed in a deliciously immoral way on a settee in the attics of a rundown house in the middle of the East End.

She could imagine the kind of gossip that would flit around her parents circle at what her mother would only describe as her daughter's 'downfall'. Was this as wrong, though, as had been drummed into her in the past? Now it came to it, feeling his weight on her and his mouth on her skin did not feel wrong; in fact it all felt rather lovely. Was feeling safe, cared for and wanted so wrong that it was a sin?

He brushed away the crucifix around her neck. How she was so vividly aware of the symbolism of the small piece of gold falling away over her shoulder was anyone's guess. That was every promise she had ever made in Church and to God thrown away with the single brush of a finger against skin.

All of a sudden however, he broke away from her and his eyes rested on hers.

"What?" she asked suddenly panicked he had changed his mind.

"This shouldn't be here".

"What?"

"You deserve better than a settee. You are better than a scruffy settee".

"I don't care Peter"

"But I do" he replied, as she felt his weight lift from her.

He stood up, and she suppressed a smile at the slightly dishevelled Policeman standing in front of her, shirt pulled out of trousers. A hand was extended to her and she allowed herself to be walked to his bedroom at the back of the house.

She shut the door behind them both, feeling the door handle dig into her spine as she found herself rooted to the spot. He turned back to her, still holding her hand as the brief touch of his breath on her cheek though well and truly dismissed any thoughts of going home.

_Sleep refused to take me for hours that night. We reluctantly walked back from his lodgings, his scarf wrapped around my neck as I shivered, albeit not from cold. I have never forgotten that day; never forgotten being pinned against the door of Nonnatus House and that kiss before he left me. I had changed for bed quickly trying to shake away the cold feeling that I was not sure was entirely down to the night air, and my hand fell on the grey wool around my neck. It was too late to run after him, and it was selfish indulgence entirely that found me sinking into bed with it wrapped still around my neck, breathing his presence in. I knew I couldn't sleep with his scarf on my person – what if I was needed in the night and one of the Sisters walked in to wake me up? As I started to drift into sleep I pulled the scarf from my neck and it found itself underneath my pillow. _

_This had to be a secret. I had always been taught keeping secrets was wrong but then again I had been taught that most things that made you happy were wrong._

_For the first time in my life I felt strong, alive and loved._

_Mater, quite frankly, could swing._


	2. Chapter 2

Camilla sat, her back leaning against the settee, watching the flames in the fire crackle, breathing in the burning wood and letting the heat engulf her. Even though it was a pleasant but dark, African evening, she was cold and lost in her thoughts as the yellow and orange sparks danced their way around the fireplace. The doors to the veranda were wide open behind her and she could hear unidentifiable creatures chattering away to each other in the night.

She felt him sit down next to her, turned, smiled and received a kiss. She also had a glass of wine put to her hand.

"Thank you "she said as his arm drifted across her shoulder.

"Happy Birthday" he said, tipping his glass towards her. "Thank you" she responded touching her glass to his hearing the 'clink' infiltrate the peace of the room. They both took a sip.

"I can't believe we have been here over a month now" she said wistfully, settling her head on his shoulder. "I remember our first day here. The sheer terror of it all!"

"It feels like yesterday. I can remember it like it was yesterday", he replied. "I can't say I ever thought I would spend 6 months in the Colonial Police but it was one of your better ideas".

"My better ideas?!" she exclaimed, eyebrows rising. "You are so insolent".

"Insolent?" he replied. "I much prefer mischievous".

He took another sip of his drink, feeling a push to his arm in response, almost causing the calamity of wine on shirt.

He paused for a moment before he put his glass down beside himself and fished into his trouser pocket, presenting her with a small blue velvet box.

"I thought I told you not to buy me a birthday present" she said, taking the box as it was handed to her.

"I didn't" he said cryptically. "Open it".

Camilla opened the small silver clasp. She found a gold band with three sapphires, nestled in a cream velvet bed.

"It was my grandmother's engagement ring. I was left it in her Will to give to my wife. Mum took care of it for me and I forgot about it as I was only 12 when grandma died. I thought girls were horrible then anyway and couldn't bear the thought of having a wife."

He saw her eyebrow arch.

"I changed my mind!" he said smiling but raising his hands in surrender to boot. "Mum had given up hope of me ever getting married, so she put it away and forgot about it too. She only remembered it before we left. I've no idea if it will fit you but it's was promised to my wife so it's yours".

"It's beautiful. Thank you". He took the ring from the box and she watched it being pushed onto her finger, where it sat probably too snugly. She would still treasure it. Perhaps one of these days she would pass it to her son's wife.

"I am sorry I can't but you anything new".

"This means more to me than anything new, Peter. Your grandpa gave it to your grandma in love. I couldn't think of a more suitable thing for you to give me". She reached across and kissed him sliding her hand around his neck.

"Besides, I have something for you as well".

"My birthday isn't until the end of the year."

"Well it's not something you can have now, well not really something I can have now either when you think about it either."

"What are you talking about?" He was thoroughly bemused as she was making no sense whatsoever and might just be off on one of her tangents.

She reached around the side of the settee and produced a small brown cardboard box, handing it to him.

"Go on" she said. He wasn't sure what type of look she had on her face. He thought he could see nerves.

He pulled the lid of the box and out of the corner of his eye he could see she was fretting now, chewing her bottom lip.

Separating the white paper he was at first confused, seeing ribbon and white knitting wool. The box on his lap he pulled out the wool to be presented with a small pair of white baby's bootees that fitted neatly into his hand. His brain initially refused to understand what he thought he was seeing and he must have looked dazed.

"Peter?" she said, suddenly worried he was either not making the connection or he was angry. For a moment she almost kicked herself for just not having the courage to just tell him the words instead of trying to be clever.

"So when will he or she be wearing them?" he asked, memorised by what was sitting in his palm, even he was sure that his voice was not going to hold up to ask the question.

"In the middle of October", she replied. "October" he repeated. There was a silence that Camilla did not take to.

"Peter? Look at me", she said, turning his chin to bring him back to her. She could see the dazed look turning slowly into a smile.

"I'm going to be someone's Dad?" he sounded so young and childlike himself and it set off her tears. She just about choked out the word 'yes' before she saw such a smile that she had never quite seen before. He reached across, pulling her towards him, kissing her.

"You have no concept of how much I love you" he said, his arms winding around her neck as he hugged her. She was crying properly now as his forehead touched hers. She felt his lips once again.

"These didn't come from here", he said.

"No. I brought them with me. I thought I might be when we left but I didn't want be a disappointment to you so I waited."

"Camilla, you are never a disappointment to me. Don't you dare ever think otherwise!"

She nodded in acceptance, still wondering just a little why he had so much faith in her.

"But you've been really well".

"I know. Not everybody gets sickness, but it's not meant to start until around now, so hold fire on telling me I look well".

"I'll remember that. Do you mind if we keep it a secret until we go back? I think I'd like us to tell my Mum and Dad ourselves".

"Not at all", she said. 'Mum and Dad', she thought. Peter's parents would be overjoyed at the prospect of their first grandchild and she had no qualms about them hearing the news; felt quite excited about it in fact. She did not, however, have the stomach quite yet to tell her own mother and father. There was a letter that had arrived at the Mission from her Ma that she had to reply to at some point shortly and how apt a topic it would be especially as the letter was full of news of her sister in law and another grandchild due in September. There would only be 4 weeks or so between them, but she somehow felt that birth of that grandchild would be far more welcome than this one. Still she had vowed that whoever this little life turned out to be, she would make up for it and love him or her desperately.

He smiled and she felt his arms go around her again.

"I won't tell the Sisters or the girls yet either. I want to see their faces when I'm out here!" she said, gesturing in an exaggerated manner in front of herself.

"Or the Reverend!"

"Oh..yes". She replied, recalling the Reverend Applebee-Thornton's effusive correspondence. "The whole of London will know if I do".

He had seen her glance towards her mother's letter on the table. "You will have to tell her you know".

"I know. It will almost be better having to write to her than tell her face to face. What if she visit?"

"We will deal with a Royal Visit when that time comes, if it does at all"

He had started referring to her mother as 'Her Majesty' now that there was the few extra thousand miles between them. She had felt that perhaps she should take him to task for being discourteous to his mother-in-law, but she could not bring herself to do it. It did feel like the Queen was coming to town when she arrived so she had to agree with him on a certain level.

"I will write to her, congratulate Veronica and tell her and yes, we will just have to see".

"So does he or she look like now?"

Camilla tried to think for second, desperately trying to remember the diagrams in her biology text books. She must be around just over 9 weeks now.

"Think of just bigger than a kidney bean with arms and legs"

"That little?"

"Not for long - wait until I turn into something that's been beached!"

"Don't be silly. You are always beautiful".

She smiled at him, still not being able to completely take compliments.

"I think that should be his or her nickname" he said suddenly.

"Kidney?" she offered, hoping she was being facetious and he would not think she was serious.

"Bean! It's better than 'it'" he said. "Or 'Kidney' for that".

Camilla smiled. Giving him or her a nickname suddenly made their son or daughter more real. As much as she knew she must have been pregnant, now missing the curse for 2 months, her skin was changing and everywhere ached. She was quite looking forward to looking pregnant and feeling the baby move as more substantial evidence of her state. Even though she was joking when she compared herself to a whale she had been overjoyed and oddly not remotely frightened at being with child now that he or she might be here. She may have expected herself to be nervous, but having prayed for this baby for longer than they had been married, now that he or she was finally arriving any fear she had about being pregnant left her entirely. What type of mother she would make, with the only example being her own, would have to be a question she would have to consider at a later date.

"Little Bean it is then", she raising her glass back to him.

"To Little Bean".

EK


	3. Chapter 3

Friday night meant the traditional Nonnatus Monopoly game, armed with chocolate, sweets and a bottle of whatever alcoholic beverage that between them they could get their hands on.

They could gossip and giggle; share stories and tales without fear of interruption or scolding for the laughter that tended to pervade the bedroom corridor.

"Jenny? Where are you?!" Trixie almost shouted as she rapped on the door, a bottle of Crème de Menthe in her other hand. It had been her week to hide the particular bottle in her wardrobe; a scheme devised to avoid detection of the purchaser of alcohol.

"Behind you!" Jenny replied, appearing at her side making Trixie jump in fright as her friends face appeared over her shoulder. From behind her back Jenny produced a box of biscuits and the two set off to the next room.

Trixie drummed on the door.

"Cynthia! Are you respectable? It's your room's turn to be hostess!"

"I am" she replied, opening the door wide to cushions carefully positioned on the floor and the monopoly board laid out in between them. As Jenny and Trixie crossed the threshold, still bearing their spoils, they heard feet almost running up the corridor to them.

"Chummy! Where have you been?" Trixie exclaimed.

"Sorry!" Their friend said as she blustered towards them, looking decidedly out of breath and somewhat harried. "Dr Turner needed a hand with the leaflets for the vaccinations next week. I'll get changed and be with you in two ticks".

Chummy paused before she passed them both. "Golly, those biscuits look divine. Do you remember where we hid the sweets?"

"Yes and I have already looked" Jenny replied, appearing from behind Trixie again. "It seems a little mouse has had them!"

"Never mind! Mice willing I think I can resolve that small issue" Chummy said, half running again down the corridor to her room.

Between them Trixie, Cynthia and Jenny settled down on the floor, pouring drinks and selecting their particular figures – the top hat for Chummy; the only one suitable for her as a good-hearted nod to her background, the rocking horse for Jenny as it reminded her of the toy her grandfather had made her when she was 6; the purse for Trixie who was always a follower of fashion and for Cynthia the thimble – a piece suggested by Chummy for the needlework lessons she was currently giving her friend.

Chummy slipped back into the room, hurriedly changed and bearing her prize.

"There we go! Chocolates instead!" Camilla said, passing Jenny a blue box.

"Roses?!" Jenny exclaimed. "Where did you get them?"

"Peter's ma" she said, settling down on the floor leaning on Cynthia's bed. "I've just not had the chance to break into them yet!"

"Peter's mother is giving you chocolates?" Trixie teased but it went straight over Chummy's head.

"She had two boxes from the lady she chars for. She thought I might like one of them". It had not really hit her that in 3 weeks she would be Mrs Noakes' daughter in law but she had been very touched that she had thought of her.

"Right who's turn is it to be bank?" Trixie said.

"Me", Cynthia replied, passing each of her colleagues a bundle of notes and the dice to Jenny.

An hour later, the bottle of Crème De Menthe was approaching its middle and the chocolates were severely depleted too. Each and every one of them enjoyed these times for entirely different reasons – although each one felt the shared joyful acceptance of friends.

"So did he?" Trixie's question was directed to Chummy.

"Did he what and who is he?" She replied, to a round of giggles from Jenny and Cynthia. With alcohol in her system the question came out rather haughtily.

With the presence of Jimmy and Peter in their lives, though, Jenny and Chummy were usually the targets of gossip mongering that tended to take place during these Friday nights.

"Peter. Try."

"Try what?" Chummy decided to be obtuse, even though she knew that ever since her blue and grey wedding suit had been hanging in her bedroom conclusions had been drawn.

"Camilla Browne you know full well what I mean!" Trixie replied, taking up the dice.

"Oh!" Chummy replied, pretending to suddenly realise. "No he didn't. He's always been a gentleman to me."

"I don't believe you. Your face says differently" Trixie said as she counted 5 around the board. "Oh! Go to jail. Why do I always end up in jail?"

Each girl bit their tongues against the responses that they were bursting to make.

"What did your mother say when you told her about the wedding?" Cynthia asked.

"Not a lot to be honest," she replied. "She would parade me in front of that many eligibles of her choice years ago that I think me making my own choice surprised her after all this time". Surprise was perhaps an understatement but talking about her mother would only make her unhappy and this was not a time to be that way.

"So there was not one that you might have even liked?" Jenny asked.

"No", Chummy replied, taking a sip of her drink. "Not one". She really did not want to talk about her mother and the wedding in that particular combination; not even knowing whether her mother would accept her invitation to go.

"So you had never been on a date before Peter?" Trixie asked.

Chummy shook her head, receiving a debt to her hand from Cynthia who had landed on Park Lane where Chummy had a developing property empire. There was no way in the world she was going to share a particular piece of news with the girls that might have been significant gossip to anyone else. In a devilsome moment she had told her mother but she knew that if she told the girls the truth she would be subject to more than a deathly silence on the end of the telephone. Chummy and Cynthia looked, even with a drop of Crème de Menthe and felt extremely uncomfortable and Jenny tried to move along their game, ensuring that Chummy had the dice pushed into her hand quickly.

"You've probably taken up Chummy's share!" Jenny said, seeing how uncomfortable the room was becoming in the hope that it would turn the conversation away from men and onto other subjects. Trixie just pulled a face.

"Surely some of them must have been interesting, though?" Cynthia asked.

"They were all positively boring. All the same. Too much money and too little sense" she said as she set the dice across the board.

"5 again!" she announced, moving the top hat 5 places glad it was her turn to avoid any further explanation.

"Bow Street! How appropriate" Cynthia said. "Would you like to buy?"

"Certainly! One hotel please"

Jenny took the dice as she watched the transaction take place over the top of the board knowing that now Chummy had dismissed any questions regarding Peter, it might be her turn shortly.

"Three" she said, moving the rocking horse to land on "Chance". She took a card.

"Ooh! Get out of Jail. I'll keep that thank you!" she smiled over at Trixie who was lounging in said jail with a disgruntled look on her face.

Cynthia took up the dice.

"12!" she exclaimed making her way around the board until she landed on 'Strand'.

"Oh, the Savoy. How I would love to go there again" Jenny said, clearly reminiscing.

"You've been to the Savoy?" Cynthia asked, feeling just that slight degree of jealousy.

"Just once for my 21st"

"It gives me the shivers to even think of putting one foot in there again" Chummy offered.

"I would love to be taken to the Savoy. It just looks so glamorous!" Cynthia said. "Surely, its not that bad Chummy?"

"No, forgive me. It's not a horrid place. One just has far too many memories of being dressed and forced to go. Ignore me!" she said with good heart.

"So what about Jimmy then Jen?"

She shook her head at Trixie trying to dismiss the question.

"You have known each other forever. Don't tell me he has never tried to kiss you?" she pressed.

Jenny shook her heard. She knew Jimmy. Probably too well after all this time and the obstacle that separated him was still looming too large in her mind.

"How? You've known each other for what?" Trixie asked.

"18 years".

"He does like you Jen" Cynthia observed.

"Well if he does I can't say I can do much to help that". She knew it came across terse but her mind was too preoccupied with other things, other people, to think of him.

"You two are useless!" Trixie responded, the game having come to somewhat of a halt. "Cynthia – you then!"

"What about me?" she asked innocently.

"Who you love?" Trixie responded.

Cynthia thought for a second, all too aware of the slightly awkward atmosphere that was building.

"I love everyone in this room" she announced, nonchalently taking another sip of her drink.

All three girls laughed at what could not have been a more perfect response as she picked up the dice again, launching them with a triumphant shake across the board. There was no more talk of love or Peter or Jimmy or disasterous encounters just the company of friends, treats and laughter.


	4. Chapter 4

Chummy's eyes were closing as, leaning on the door frame of Nonnatus House, she breathed in the harsh chill of the Poplar night. Above her head, fluffy snowflakes were falling with increasing alacrity drifting from the sky onto the bed of white that had slowly fallen all day.

She was, however, tucked pleasantly just inside the door, her arms wrapped tightly around the sleeping 9 week old bundle nestled into her neck, wrapped in his own blanket, her cardigan and her coat.

For the middle of the East End of London the snow brought about an odd peace, not a sound around her as she watched the almost volcanic purples and oranges in the sky. The clouds were leaden with snowflakes ready to fall on the people of Poplar as they had been for the most of the day.

_Six pairs of feet crashing across the lawn; a snowball hitting her square between the shoulder blades almost propelling her to the floor._

Chummy smiled at the memory, turning to see her eldest brother with a 'Cheshire Cat' grin reloading his armour of snowballs to turn on his other siblings. Bob was 25 and should have known better.

She could feel the cold, damp patch on the back of her coat as though it was yesterday on the receiving end of a perfectly accurate hit between the shoulder blades. She had been woken up at dawn by a string of brothers parading into her bedroom and Teddy, just a year older than her, opening a window letting the ice cold breeze in. It was that same sensation that she felt, wrapped in her blankets that she felt wrapped in her coat standing in the doorway of her new home. Utterly protected.

She had loved that winter though. It was 1938. She remembered it clearly - aged 12 and the first time she had been home, in England, with her brothers for far too many years. Thinking back, it was the last time they had been together until her elder brothers came back from the War.

She shivered all of a sudden, remembering all six of them after thoroughly ruining the snow covered lawn in front of the house with their sodden feet, standing in their mother's sitting room. She remembered counting the flowers in the carpet as her mother earnestly paced, standing there until their father had finished his breakfast and waiting for the inevitable punishment of being excitable. One day she would see her own children throw snowballs at each other and she would let them get as soaking as they wished.

Pulling her collar closer to her she wished she had brought a scarf too although the heat radiating from her son was enough for now. For whichever reason He had made it so, she felt so much safer with her scarf wrapped around her neck and a hood up. She imagined the school gabardine she had to wear with the almost monk like hood that she could bury herself in and hide. Poplar was her home, Peter was her home and it was the same when they sat on the settee with his arms wrapped around her neck. _Protection._

She was so lost at the scene before her she did not hear or see a figure arrive at the bottom of the steps; nor did she see or hear the figure creep up those steps and arrive in front of her.

"You two are so beautiful", he said in what was a whisper that sounded so loud against the night. Her arms tightened involuntarily around the baby in surprise.

"You are going to be the _death_ of me, Constable Noakes."

"I hope not. I just saw you standing there looking as though you were miles away and I remembered I needed to tell you something".

"Oh?" she asked intrigued, perhaps hoping it would be a compliment or an "I love you", becoming more and more accustomed as her marriage went on to being appreciated. She had decided some time ago that she would accept compliments and stop telling him he was being silly if he told her she looked nice or not wonder why when he arbitrarily told her that he loved her.

"Yes, it's snowing," he said, "and I'm freezing".

"I commend you on stating the obvious" she replied sarcastically, albeit followed with the kind of smile he would like to think was only reserved for him.

"Is there a cup of tea going spare?"

"Peter! You know the Sisters are funny with you just appearing here all the time".

"I happen to live here now and if I want to see my wife and son I will see my wife and son".

He stepped up to her and she felt one hand snake onto her hip and the other gently pull away the blanket that covered their son's head so that he could see him. Chummy smiled at the face that was pulled by their son when he realised he could feel his Pa's ice cold hands, even though he was wearing leather gloves.

"Are you on your own?" he asked.

"No", she replied, nodding her head towards her son, deliberately being uncooperative.

"I meant Nuns". The presence of everyone else was starting to wear thin for them both, desperate to just be a family with their own _private_ front door. Two more days and they were to be rehoused and just in time for Christmas and that day could not come soon enough.

"Everyone's asleep or out" she responded.

"You should be asleep too"

"I know but I saw the snow falling again and he was awake so I thought I would come downstairs for a while".

"Still," he replied. "You need rest".

"I get enough rest during the day. Nobody is letting me lift a finger".

He was right though she should have been asleep, warm, under cover of their bedspread, conserving as many hours of sleep she could to regain the energy she had lost since the birth.

"Where's David?" she asked, knowing that for the past month or so, Peter had been partnered with a new Constable. Camilla had met David Roberts a number of times and she did wonder if he would survive the streets of Poplar.

"He's just checking the side doors. See? We do look after you all."

"I know you do" she replied.

He looked around to check for his new charge.

"Come here", he said, going first to kiss her cheek before she ducked out of the way.

"What about David?"

"I don't expect you to kiss him"

"Peter! I meant…"

"I know what you meant. Just kiss me and then make us both a cup of tea and we will leave you alone".

"Peter, we'll be murdered if they know you two are in here in the middle of the night".

"5 minutes?" he pleaded, as she could feel his thumb rubbing against her hip. "Surely you won't begrudge two very cold Police Officers 5 minutes of time to warm up?"

Behind her she saw the new constable walking up the steps.

"Hello David". Peter withdrew his hand.

"Nurse Noakes", he replied, tipping his head towards her. "Freddie" he added, greeting the baby who had now woken up again, taking in the surroundings of his mother's coat.

"David, please call me Camilla or at worst Mrs Noakes," she said, seeing him return her smile and nod.

"So can we have that cup of tea?" Peter asked, with an exaggerated rub of his arms, shedding only a small amount of the snow he was covered in.

She regarded the one pair of piteous blue eyes and, now, the other pair of equally as piteous brown eyes that addressed her and admitted defeat. They did look a sight, both of them wearing a layer of snow and sporting red noses.

"Be quick!" She said, opening the door properly to let them; following her as quietly as leather boots on tiles would let them.

By the time they had reached the kitchen, Peter had shed his damp overcoat and had received his son to his arms so she could boil the kettle.

They were cold; there was no denying that as she felt David's glacial hands brush hers as she passed the steaming hot cup of tea to him suppressing the brief feelings of guilt at nearly turning them both away back into the dark.

"Sorry I can't stoke the fire", she said, sitting at the table next to them. "Sister will have my neck". She wrapped her coat around her legs as she could feel cold air permeating off them both.

"It doesn't matter. Your tea is doing just the job." David said, smiling at her before taking another sip.

"You didn't get seen did you?" she asked.

"I did see Sister Monica Joan leaning out of the top window" Peter said, hearing the baby sigh.

"Oh no, how far leaning out?" Camilla replied, suddenly panicked that she would suddenly have to call the Fire Brigade.

"Not so much to cause alarm. I think she was just watching the snow too". He didn't tell her that he had heard a "Coo-eee" from high above his head and turned to dart away from a snowball, amassed from the window ledge, that skimmed past his ear.

All of a sudden a figure appeared at the door. Nobody in the kitchen had heard the slippered feet that had crept down the stairs, hearing voices downstairs.

"Well, well, Mrs Noakes entertaining two men at what? 2 o'clock in the morning?!"

Her skin burned. Not that she had anything to be embarrassed about as the worst she was doing was warming up two policemen. She stopped herself saying anything though. If the phrase 'warming up two policemen' fell from her mouth it would just invite Trixie to tease her more.

With some amusement, she saw her husband's eyes look away from Trixie, knowing full well he should not really have been in Nonnatus House at that time of night, turning his attention to the baby who had taken hold of his tie. She looked up to find his colleague however, eyes fixed in alarm at the figure that was floating around the kitchen. Chummy was not sure immediately whether it was desire or fear, but she had seen those gestures and that 'walk' that her colleague was now demonstrating and she concluded it was fear.

"Hello David" she said, before she winked at Peter, who had now looked up. Thankfully the latter knew that Trixie was like and would take it with good heart and ignore it.

"I" David paused. "Thank you for the tea….We'd best off". David went to walk away and Peter, with a look to his wife of helplessness, left the nearly drunk cup of tea on the table, gently passed the baby back to her, kissed her on the cheek and almost bolted after his colleague.

As soon as she felt they were out of earshot, Camilla only had one word to say

"Trixie!"

"What?"

"You know how shy David is. You positively terrify him!"

Trixie laughed and dismissed the comment with a gentle wave of her hand.

"He's 21! You are not."

"You sound like my mother" Trixie replied. "Actually you know you sound like_ your_ mother!"

Camilla hesitated. That did sound like something she had heard from her mother - _"He is from the East end of London! You are not!"_

"I'm sorry", she replied, standing up, the baby now settled back in her arms. "You won't say anything about them being in here?"

"Why should I? You with all of your rebellious behaviour!"

"Hardly, old thing!" she replied, knowing Trixie would not say anything about her visitors.

"Don't worry, " she paused and smiled. "Now, are you going to make me a cup of tea to ensure your secret is safe?"

EK


	5. Chapter 5

**A follow on from when Chummy delivers the baby on the Swedish Ship instead as it was in the book, with some license as to timescale!**

It was the dreariest night that they had seen in a long while; drizzle greasing the streets of Poplar as the black Wolsely slowly made its shuddering journey along the cobblestones towards the Docks.

Albeit pleased that he was not cycling or even walking in this miserable night, Peter was hesitant as he drove towards to Docks. The docks were busy, heaving with people during the day but at night they were quiet and eerie; smells lingering from the day's goods that passed through the Port, usually the odour of raw fish that hit his stomach like a cannon, turning it in somersaults. The buildings around him were suddenly more imposing, the bricks darker and the shadows more foreboding.

He stopped the car at the Dock Gates seeing the security guards light in the small hut burning away and stepped out into the rain which had thankfully begun to ease.

"Any trouble tonight?" he asked, moving into the warmth of the hut.

"No, all quiet, Constable", the security guard replied, before he paused. "Apart from the woman that is. Wimmin actually – two of 'em".

Peter was immediately alarmed. "Women aren't allowed in the docks".

"Don't look at me" the guard replied, raising his hands in surrender. "Sailor came belting down a few hours ago, shouting in Swedish. Or at least I think it was Swedish. Didn't get a word of it other than there was a woman and he was holding his belly and shouting and groaning. I telephoned the Nonnatuns as I figured a woman with belly ache might need one of them".

"Which Nurse?" he replied, suddenly panicked that it could be any one of the nurses or nuns he could call friends, equally that it could have been his wife.

"Didn't look like a nun though. Girl had dark hair I think".

Peter stopped the terse response that was going to slip from his mouth. So much for a 'security' guard not being able to recall what one woman looked like. 'Dark hair' could cover Camilla, Jenny, Cynthia, but he didn't think he was going to get a more conducive answer to his question so it was perhaps more of a case of 'seek and ye shall find'.

"Do you know which ship she went to?"

"The only Swedish ship in is the Katrina. West dock. Nurse hasn't come back past that I've seen".

"Thank you", he replied, taking back off into the darkness.

He didn't hear the "_Bloody wimmin. Nothing but trouble_" that fell from the guard's mouth.

**An hour later…..**

Peter trailed behind Sister Evangelina and Sister Bernadette, as they walked along the bedroom corridor, carrying his wife's coat and hat.

"I'm fine, really Sister", Chummy said, even though her voice was wavering.

"Utter nonsense, Nurse," Sister Evangelina responded "You are like an ice block and you look like an Undertaker's muse".

"You need rest Nurse", Sister Bernadette echoed. "It's been a long night and I'm going to get Dr Turner to see you".

"No, really you mustn't. His time's precious enough as it is" she protested, never one to make a fuss.

"Nurse Noakes, if your husband hadn't found you I dread to think where you might have ended up. Now, we are going to help you get changed and warm and we will call for the doctor". They paused outside a bedroom and Sister Evangelina wagged her finger.

"I won't hear another word of protest from you young lady so button your lip now".

Usually when Sister Evangelina told somebody to be quiet, you were quiet so she acquiesced and allowed herself to be turned into one of the spare , in an attempt to follow his wife, immediately felt Sister Evangelina's hand in his chest.

"Oh no you don't! Out!"

As he walked away he heard "Make sure you hang her coat and hat by the front door!" before the bedroom door slammed shut.

"Sister Evangelina just threw me out" he announced forlornly as he returned to the kitchen.

"I don't think a marriage certificate matters to her! She must think you had never seen her in her under things!" Trixie replied, taking the hat and coat off him to hang up in their rightful place by the door.

"Did she say what happened?" Jenny asked as he sat down at the kitchen table.

"Only that there was a woman on one of the ships and she'd delivered a little girl. Not much else she was saying made sense".

"Do you know which ship?" Sister Julienne asked him, deeply concerned that not only was one of her midwives unwell but that the mother also could be without care if that ship departed without word.

"The security guard said it was the Katrina", he said, a cup of tea being passed to his hand by the Sister."I will need to see Nurse Noakes' delivery record and we will attend in the morning. A ship is no place for a mother recovering from childbirth. I trust an officer will accompany us?"

"I will make sure of it Sister".

A few hours later, having seen to his patient Dr Turner greeted the throng of people in the kitchen.

"How is she?" Sister Julienne asked.

"Touch of hypothermia and generally just quite exhausted. Nothing keeping warm and sleep won't cure. Make sure that she has plenty of water to hand and I would suggest a hot water bottle or two during the night. I believe Sister Bernadette is locating one for her".

"Of course Doctor" the Sister replied.

"Have we lost her husband?" he asked.

"He had to go back to the station to sign off shift and report the delivery, but he should be back sh.." Jenny said, breaking off her sentence as he appeared in the kitchen. "Shortly".

"Is she is alright Doctor?" Peter asked.

"Yes,yes, quite well. I was just saying it's a touch of Hypothermia but nothing to be too concerned about. Warmth and rest is all I can prescribe. Now if you must excuse me. I will pop back in the morning, Sister", he said nodding his head to the room in general.

Sister Julienne waited until the doctor was out of earshot and addressed Peter.

"Despite you being her husband, I think it might be wise she remains undisturbed tonight. Take this water jug for her and don't wake her. 2 minutes - I will be watching the clock"

"Yes Sister". She did not need to ask whether he was staying, rather than making his way home. Sister Julienne knew enough about Peter Noakes to know if he had to sleep on the steps he would not want to leave her tonight.

"Nurse Lee, collect blankets and pillows and make up a bed in the sitting room"

"Yes Sister" she responding, taking off up the stairs after Peter.

To their side, Cynthia arrived from a delivery to the kitchen that was full to bursting with bodies. "What's going on? I've just passed Dr Turner" she asked, concern laced in her voice.

"Nurse Noakes is unwell after a rather interesting delivery by all accounts", Sister Julienne advised.

"Where is she?" Cynthia asked.

"Asleep . Peter is up there with her", Trixie replied.

"For 2 minutes" Sister Julienne interrupted, "and those 2 minutes are well on their way to expiry. Nurse Miller, before you take your coat off, run up and extract him if you please".

"Yes Sister" Cynthia responded taking off out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

As Peter took up his post on the settee that night he settled down for what could be an uncomfortable few hours, but still having slept in fields and barns when he fought, a settee and a blanket in a Convent was luxury.

Several hours later, Chummy picked her way downstairs, cautious on her feet as each step sent shockwaves to her aching head. She had donned a cardigan and a housecoat as she was still quite cold, feeling sick and in need of water. Ever so carefully she crept down the stairs and into the kitchen, the tap squeaking slightly as she filled the glass on her hand.

She did not hear or see Peter lean on the door frame.

"You shouldn't be out of bed", he whispered. Even though it was the quietest voice, it set her heart to jump.

"I needed another drink" she said, turning slightly to him. "You weren't there for me to wake you up and make you get it instead".

She heard him laugh quietly before she turned around properly, feeling a sharp axe-like pain shoot through her head that made her stop to take a breath.

"Are you alright?" he asked. By the time she had opened her eyes again he had walked across the kitchen and she felt a hand on her elbow.

"Sorry", she replied, face crumbling. "Terrible headache. Why aren't you not at home?"

"Do you think I would have left you here after me finding you after your little adventure?" He guided her over to one of the kitchen chairs.

"You found me?" she asked, confused.

"You don't remember the ship?" he said, pulling another chair closer to her so he could sit down.

He saw her gently shake her head, desperately trying avoid a recurrence of the terrible pain that was only just ebbing away.

"I don't recall very much of it all. I remember the telephone call and going there. I remember it was a little girl. I had to climb up to get there, I think".

"Climb?!" he asked.

"Up a rope ladder from a rowing boat".

"Do you know what could have happened to you?" She didn't hear anger in his voice, more exasperated concern at this wonderful, fearless but utterly mad woman he had married. "I was out on patrol. The security guard mentioned two women in the docks. I saw you walking back up towards the dock gates. I thought you were going to collapse on me".

"I don't remember you being there" she said, distress clear on her face that she could not recall her own husband; what he might have said to her; that it was him that came to help her when she needed him. "Why don't I remember you?"

"You should never have been in the Docks. You know women are not allowed down there". The comment did escape his mouth in perhaps more of a stern manner than he intended but he was there to protect her, no matter how much she may have protested against it, she came first, last and every step between.

"I know, but I couldn't just leave Kirsty could I?" she said, the girls name slipping out from some distant corner of her memory.

"Kirsty was the mother?"

"I think so. Possibly" she paused. "No, she was called Kirsty. Kirsten Borgstrom".

"She was on a Swedish ship? She was Swedish?" He already knew the answer but hoped the repetition could trigger something.

"Yes. The Katrina."

"And you said before that her father was there?"

"You're questioning me" she said, albeit with no alarm in her voice.

He had not realised he had moved into the mode of policeman rather than husband.

"I might have to formally interview you at some point. Whoever took that girl on that ship his has committed a crime. Surely its better here, just you and me for now, than in the Police Station?"

She smiled and nodded.

"Are you sure you can't remember any more?

"I remember she was lovely. I can't imagine what kind of life she led though. She just sounded so innocent, talking about her dreams. She was going to go back to Sweden, have a house of her own, grow vegetables, dress her little girl in lace. She didn't even know she was pregnant".

"Did she say what she was doing there?"

"She said she was the ships woman" Chummy responded quite matter of factly.

"Oh", he replied, dropping his head. The last thing he needed to hear about was a possibly underage girl effectively being prostituted by her own father.

"I do know what that means you know" she said, as he felt her fingertips turn his head towards her. "Well, I do now", she shrugged lightly, throwing the comment away. "She told me, but she said her father had arranged it so she was safe".

"Safe?"

"We had a conversation about cases of prophylactics" she said without a hint of worry at sharing that particuar piece of information.

"Ah" he replied, and for a second paused before he asked. "Cases of them?"

"500 a trip, 16 a day" she reported matter-of-factly.

"16?!"

"16. Give or take"

"I'd be dead", he said bluntly.

"Worse ways to die I suppose" Chummy ruminated, although she did have to suppress a smile at his comment.

"Yes but 16 times a day?!"

"Should I take offence at that?" she asked in mock outrage.

"No! Not at all, but no matter how much I might…I mean….surely it would be….." She could see he was floundering and it amused her greatly. There was never a moment in the world that he would have intended to upset her, but the slight incredulity in his voice motivated her to the edge of laughter.

"Peter, as much as I love you, stop digging yourself into a pit you will not get yourself out of".

"Okay", he replied sheepishly. "I'll stop".

She smiled and leant over, kissing him on the cheek.

"You do realise anything could have happened to you in the docks" he said as she felt his hand slide across her cheek as she leant into his touch, absorbing the warmth and comfort he always brought with him.

"But it didn't", she replied quietly as though they were being overheard, although there was not a soul around them.

"That's not the point", he whispered in response, his voice laced with the same softness of his wife's.

"But. It. Didn't" she enunciated, taking his hand from her skin winding his fingers into hers.

"You're still freezing, Camilla. Go back up to bed".

"You do have methods and means at your disposal of warming me up" she said as he felt her thumb run over the back of his hand and for a second willed her, just this once, to stop it.

"Can you imagine what would happen if I was found up there?" he said, rolling his eyes to the ceiling where above his head was the bedroom corridor.

"Yes I can" she replied, "unfortunately".

The telephone rang - a sure signal that someone would soon be finding them.

"Quick….get back in the sitting room" she said suddenly bundling him as quickly as she could out of his chair, ignoring the throbbing that had started again in her head. Pushing him into the sitting room she went to answer the telephone. As she replaced the receiver she saw Sister Bernadette make her way downstairs.

"A call, Nurse?" Sister Bernadette asked, straightening her habit.

"Yes Sister"

"You know you should be in bed", she said, without a hint of reproach.

"I was getting another drink Sister. Thing went off when I walked past".

"Very well. Who was it?"

"Mrs Parrish on Blair Street, Sister" she replied, handing Sister Bernadette the note she had scribbled.

"Thank you" she replied, moving away from the bottom step to allow Chummy to pass her. "Now go back to bed Nurse Noakes".

"Yes Sister".

She watched Chummy walk upstairs who resisted looking back just to check where her husband was, hoping she had stalled enough time for him to slide underneath the covers of his temporary bed. She did, however, see Sister Bernadette walk to clearly check where he was.

As the Sister popped her head around the door of the sitting room, seeing him there, apparently asleep, a little joke about sleeping Policemen that her brother told her on her last visit home just a year or two back after he returned from the West Indies, scurried through her mind. Reassured she walked away.

Upstairs, Chummy slipped in to bed, not taking off her house coat as she was so very cold still. She pulled the blankets up and around her neck and settled into the mattress, a hot water bottle still warm by her feet letting sleep take her quickly again.

The last thought she would have was that she would awake with enough of memory restored to help the Police and her Sisters to find that poor girl before it was too late.

EK


	6. Chapter 6

She turned his head to see Peter's face properly in the diffuse light of the hallway. It was perhaps a little on the rough side.

"Do you always treat your patients this way?" he joked, staring to the coat stand as the nurse studied him.

"Only my extremely special ones!" Trixie replied, releasing him. He had been too early for Chummy, who was still out, but the moment that Trixie saw his face she ferried him into the hallway from the step. It was not every day that you opened the door to a policeman with bloodshot, swollen eye and a seeping cut to his cheek.

"I think that might need a stitch", she said as she pressed the side of the wound with her thumb as he winced as it began to bleed again. "Come along, I can't see what I am doing here".

Her patient, being held by the wrist, followed her to the treatment room to better light before she directed him to a chair and passed him a surgical swab.

"Hold that on and I will be one minute" she said and walked away. He took off his coat, revealing blood that had seared the cuff of his shirt when he had wiped his face on the journey towards Nonnatus. How conspicuous he felt though, feeling his eye swelling, as he passed stares at the local bobby that they all knew, sporting injuries that looked as though he had been involved in a rather interesting fight. Well, after all, he thought as he stepped ahead, he had.

He sat down and immediately realised, as the back of his arm touched the chair, that it was far more painful than he had first imagined. He was sure it was grazed or bruised but he couldn't see and was not planning on revealing the fact in front of Trixie.

Patiently he sat, eyes wandering around the room paying as little attention as possible to the rather gruesome medical diagrams adorning the walls around him and waited. There were images on those walls depicting things that no sane man would ever want to know about.

Away in another room Trixie set about filling a kidney dish with water as she saw Chummy arrive, returning from a delivery that seemed to have kept her occupied since before lunchtime.

"There's something of yours in the treatment room", Trixie said casually turning to her.

"Sorry?" Chummy replied, immediately confused.

"Go and see" Trixie said, pointing vaguely in the direction of the hallway.

Chummy frowned as her feet took her around the corner into the small treatment room, mentally ticking off everything that she ought to have had in her medical bag. She certainly had everything she needed to deliver Mrs Butcher just an hour ago and there was nothing that she could think of that she had mislaid. She rounded the corner to find him sitting in the treatment room, patiently waiting with his back to the doorway with the swab still pressed to his cheek.

She touched his shoulder and he noticeably flinched, not expecting her touch. A comment from an old girlfriend years ago had stayed with him buried deep, only revealing itself at those inopportune moments where he did not want to revisit certain feelings of loneliness and rejection.

"_How do you live with that thing on your back_?" she had asked him, seeing the mess of scar tissue over his right shoulder and, albeit hidden to her then, down his back; a constant and unrelenting reminder of War. He had only been wearing a vest, helping his father dig over their back garden in the blazing sun when she had seen visited unnannounced, the edges of the scar peeking out from the cotton. His response, in his head, not conveyed to her was - _"I have no choice"._

From that moment on he was even more conscious of the scar than normal and studiously avoided any form in intimacy, thinking the moment a girl saw his back he would hear that question again repeated mercilessly. There had been many a time he had tried to reason with himself that someone who ran off would not be worth marrying; but it was difficult in practice though when he could see the sudden hesitation in their eyes. He became reticent to even think about approaching anyone for fear of questions when he did not have the words to completely explain.

Nurse Browne, however, had stirred curiosities in him that he had not felt for years and by default, as he had every plan to make sure that he would never leave her side, so she would have to know. That would, however, also mean telling her about how he came to become burnt. One of these days, if he had anything to do it with it, she would see his back and then he would no choice but to explain. It would however, he felt, be right this time. Nothing about her made him reticent now, nothing about her made him uncommunicative and conversation now, between them, simply flowed with ease of two people who you would think had known each other all of their lives.

"What happened to you?" she asked immediate concern etched on her face.

"A fight in the White Horse – just a bit of flying glass" he replied, playing down the brawl that had taken 4 officers and the landlord to break it up.

"That eye is more than flying glass", she said, leaning close to him, hands on each cheek. For a moment he breathed in her proximity, warm and gentle hands, drawing in the light unpretentious perfume she wore. It was a welcome counterpoint to the memories of bleach and disinfectant he could still smell when those memories of being in Hospital crept up on him.

"It didn't look too bad before," he said. "Trixie said it needed stitching and you all know best".

"We do know best" Trixie said as she reappeared, kidney dish in hand putting it down on the table. Chummy turned to her, about to pass comment, when another figure appeared at the doorway.

"What do we have here?" Sister Evangelina announced.

"Constable Noakes needed some medical treatment, Sister", Trixie said immediately. It had been her that had opened the door to him and brought him into the treatment room, not wanting Chummy to have to hear any more criticism of Constable Noakes' far too frequent visits to Nonnatus House. 'A distraction' Sister Evangelina had called him, even though it had been her, in exasperation that had procured their first date. Trixie had seen a change in her friend since that first hesitant trip to the cinema when she had returned full of the joys of spring, effusive and with those initial buds of confidence starting to sprout, so Trixie had every intention of protecting her friend as much as she could.

Sister Evangelina walked across to Peter and held him by the chin, tipping his head back into the light again as both girls looked on. His comment about Trixie being rough paled into insignificance, but he bit his tongue, even though he was becoming somewhat irritated at being manhandled repeatedly by anyone but Camilla.

"The only thing I've stitched recently is perineal tears" she said. "I've not been near this end for years!"

Chummy and Trixie suppressed a laugh at the comparison. Their patient just looked across to the two nurses confused at why amusement was written all over their faces at the comment. Sister Evangelina noticed and withheld the overwhelming need to look skywards.

"Ask your girlfriend, Constable" she said, letting go of his chin. "Now does it take two nurses to stitch a miniscule cut?"

"No Sister", they both chimed in unison.

"Well decide between the two of you who his going to stitch him up and then put him back out on the street please!" she said emphatically, not waiting to hear both girls acknowledge her nor realising he was actually here to pick Chummy up.

"Yes Sister".

"Go on," Trixie said. "He belongs to you. You can clean him up". Chummy watched her walk out with a smile.

_'__He belongs to you'. Does he belong to me? I really haven't the faintest idea whether he does or not._

"Sister makes me sound like I'm the local alley cat" he whispered when he was sure that both Trixie and Sister Evangelina were out of earshot.

"Well I promise I shan't pick you up by the scruff of your neck and if you are very lucky I will make you a cup of tea before I get changed, or would you prefer a bowl of milk?"

He couldn't help but laugh, even though the resultant tingling in his cheek did not help. She always made him laugh.

"I think I will take the tea, thank you".

He watched as she collected together antiseptic, cotton wool and a sterile needle, not entirely looking forward to feeling that needle pierce his skin. Still though, at least she would be gentle.

_"_I promise I will be as neat as I can" she said, but the last thing he was concerned about was whether he was left with another scar.

He sat patiently as she cleaned and stitched the cut, watching her as much as he could keeping his head fixed in one place so she could see properly. She noticed, however, that he was otherwise fidgeting.

"Are you sure you've not hurt yourself anywhere else?" she asked. "I can't say you look very comfortable".

"My shoulder is hurting" he said, quickly following it up with "it's nothing though". It was his usual way of evading that kind of question.

"Do you want me to have a look? It could be starting to bruise".

He thought for a second. She was a nurse, he trusted her with her life and although she may not really actually be able to help, there would be one day when she would have to know. It may as well be today.

As he took off his shirt, it didn't feel intimate even though she was possibly his girlfriend. After 5 weeks of dates and trips out, could he call her his girlfriend? She felt like his girlfriend and Sister Evangelina certain thought she was. He felt like they were close even though their relationship was nothing but a fledgling stumbling out of its nest hoping to fly high above the clouds, but carrying that fear of tumbling head first to the mud below.

He felt like a patient again; nurses inspecting his wounds, being poked and prodded even though she was far more gentle as she lifted his arm to one side.

As she studied his scarred skin, she could not imagine the horrific pain that he must have been in. She had nursed soldiers still dying from their infected wounds when she first qualified, years and years after the war had ended. These men were stalled in time; life slowly leaching away from them, hearing them tell her that they wanted to close their eyes and never return when the physical and mental scars were simply too much. She had seen the same look in his eyes in the men she had tended to; as though she was meant to feel revulsion at their very existence. It was the last thing she felt, especially not towards him, but there was no method to express it to these deeply traumatised men who had seen sights far beyond her worst imagination. He ought to have realised she would be different.

Her first touch was gentle, but he could barely feel the fingertips that brushed what scar was exposed by the sleeve of his vest, the nerves in his skin long destroyed. She hesitated.

"Your shoulder just looks like you knocked it but your elbow is going to bruise though", she said quickly fighting a need to lean forward, to touch her lips to his skin which to her would be a silent gesture of acceptance of his state. Her skin suddenly burnt red as though she should not be thinking these shameful, intimate thoughts towards him.

"I was in Hospital in London for 2 months; 5 or 6 operations it was" he suddenly offered. "Then I was sent to Somerset to recuperate".

"Somerset?"

"Christmas 1944 in Chard, trying to decorate a ratty hospital Christmas tree with one useful arm". He smiled at what had actually been one of the few good memories of being in that Hospital.

"We were in Axminster that Christmas for my brother's wedding. I wasn't far away from you".

"I do wish I had met you then" he said in a quiet melancholy voice.

"No you don't - you would have never looked at me", she replied hurriedly. Placing his arm down it allowed him to turn to her. If she was awkward now, even with the confidence that she was slowly accumulating as her time at Nonnatus drew on, she knew he would not have paid her a moment's attention at the age of 16. She could not even pay herself a moment's attention then.

"I do", he said, taking her hands.

"When I went home", he said, feeling atmosphere build, "Mum would force feed me, thinking food could get rid of the memories; get rid of the fact I would never see my brother again". She knew he had a brother and it been easier to tell her about Philip; having reconciled the untimely death of his brother and best friend. It was harder to tell her about the wounds he still carried.

"Mum and Dad were grieving for him and trying to care for me at the same time and I really don't know how they coped. I'd seen some lads with far worse injuries than me in that Hospital. Two lads either side of me – one had a leg blown off and the other had been blinded. Their girlfriends came to see them; mine didn't".

The 'mine didn't' slipped out far too easily when he suddenly realised she knew nothing of the fiancée he had had, or rather did not have, when he was repatriated.

"Your's?" Chummy asked, knowing her voice cracked, heart suddenly racing at this news. She knew he must have had girlfriends before, utterly silly of her to think otherwise but suddenly being confronted with this faceless woman sent anxiety running through her blood.

"I could speak, walk; I still had my arms and legs, I could be a proper husband to her. The last time I saw her was from the back of a truck before we left for Dover".

She did not quite know what to say or think about this other person who he had once, clearly it seemed, loved. She had never had to think about this before; blithley moving from day to day, date to date, in her innocence of relationships. She was unsure how what to say, how to acknowledge the ghostly presence of this woman in the past. In different circumstances, if she had been his girlfriend then she would have visited all the hours that God would have sent, cared for him if she had to herself.

"The lad with his leg married his fiancée in the Hospital. I was the best man permanently bent over to one side trying to hold up a man on crutches. We looked comical". He smiled before taking a breath, seeing she was not going to ask.

"Her name was Jean. When she didn't come to see me, I realised I would never, could never, marry her. I think she thought she would have to care for an invalid for the rest of her life". He looked up, squeezing her hands. "I needed to find my nurse".

She smiled, daring not to ask, not knowing what to ask . "There are always reasons for everything Peter. I would like to think there is a reason for us meeting now, not then".

Camilla smiled again as she felt his hand snake around her neck as he kissed her on the cheek for the very first time.

"Put your coat back on and I will go and get you that tea before we go", she said quietly. "Do you think you can tell me more?"

He nodded.

_That night, for the first time wishing he was sharing this bed next to me; I missed him desperately, not at all ashamed at how I felt - just wishing of nothing more than to turn on my side and he would be there. I cried myself to sleep, his stories reverberating around my mind, fraught with my own memories of patients I had tended to years after the war had ended. I saw those men dying slow painful deaths from their wounds; of their friends and family regularly visiting with eyes carrying that haunted look that I so readily started to recognise.. It did not cross my mind then that I ought to feel jealous of this woman he had once loved as all I could think of was how Peter would have felt. Try as I might, I could not help but imagine Peter lying in hospital, injured, alone and wondering why she would not visit him. _

_That night, despite my protestations to the contrary, I somehow wished I had known him then. _

EK


	7. Chapter 7

_"Do please wake up and listen when your mother is talking to you!"_

Chummy sat, wearied and fringing on hunger see swatches of material passed in front of her eyes. As much as she was grateful to Sister Julienne for allowing her an entire Thursday off, the dawning of her trip to her Mother's dress designer had filled her with foreboding.

She had toyed with her breakfast, stealing glances at her friend's faces around her, knowing her fate horribly wishing for half of the women of Poplar to suddenly go into labour so she could say "Sorry, Mater, duty calls!"

Still it would only be postponing the inevitable and, as Trixie had put it – "Stand firm, get it done and think of the relief when it's over!"

Last night, they had sat huddled together in front of the fire in his lodgings and he had asked what time she was going.

"Firing squad at 11" she had responded, after which he had asked if she wanted him to go with her or at least to be there when her mother came to collect her. He had felt her shake her head.

"No, no need. I have to face it sooner rather and later. Besides, as much as I am not looking forward to seeing her, I am happy I am being fitted for my wedding dress".

"Dress?! " He had asked, suddenly surprised she seemed to have changed her mind.

"Suit" she had corrected herself, steadfast this time that she would like a shift dress and jacket. She had a sudden thought that made her smile as they walked hand in hand on the way back to Nonnatus; remembering the giggles from the girls when she told them that she would have to be shoehorned under duress into a white dress.

"Chummy are you sure?" Jenny had asked, when the knowing looks died down.

"Yes, quite sure" she had replied.

As she sat now though, a cup of tea balanced on her knee, she saw white, cream, ivory, lemon and this rather peculiar peachy colour that would be the last thing she would agree to wear laid out across the table as her mother and the designer talked around her. They didn't need to talk over her as she had barely uttered a word for the last hour.

Her stomach grumbled quietly to itself as she glanced at the ornate gold clock on the wall. She had been sitting here for 1 hour and 47 minutes precisely and, whilst she had heard of chain smoking, she had not heard of chain tea drinking, contemplating the third cup she was about to partake of. Turning around she poured the pale liquid into the guilt edged cup and resumed her previous position of studying the clock.

"Camilla, dear?" she heard at the third attempt by her mother, voice becoming terse.

"Sorry Mater!" she replied, coming to her senses

"Are you going to engage in your own wedding gown or not?"

Chummy put the tea cup down and walked over to the design that was laid out on the table top. To her surprise she saw a simple shift dress, a bow about its waist and a jacket.

"If you are so insistent on not having a full wedding gown, I explained to Mr Thompson that a simple dress may be appropriate."

"Yes Mater". It was oddly simple for her mother's tastes and she liked it. It was for the most part, though, disconcerting that her mother was suddenly being so _straightforward_.

"Now as I see this will not be a conventional wedding dress, do we have a colour in mind?" the designer asked.

"Blue" Camilla said quickly, seeing out of the corner of her eye a bolt of material on the shelf that she felt would suit her.

"Ah yes! Lovely! Blue. Now I see you learnt something from your French history lessons at school young lady". Camilla shivered inwardly at being called 'young lady' and was for a moment confused.

"I have the very thing over here!" he exclaimed, walking over to the very shelf where she had seen the material she would have liked.

Camilla looked to her mother and smiled; see the oddly confused look about her mother's face too at the designer's enthusiasm for blue as well.

"The original colour of purity; the colour of the blood Royal!" he said, the material swirling over the table as her mother delicately examined a corner, face brightening at the designer's declaration.

Inadvertently she seemed to have done something right for a change even if her intentions had been otherwise. She kicked herself but hoped it might make her mother forget that telephone call, regretting being quite so open with her.

Oddly that afternoon, on their return to Nonnatus, her mother had been more engaging regarding the wedding than ever and it made her daughter nervous.

EK


	8. Chapter 8

Vaguely she could feel her hand tingling with pins and needles. She tried to move but found it impossible, opening her eyes to find him sitting in the hospital chair but leaning forward onto the bed, his head on her hand.

"Peter?" she whispered, throat still sore from the tracheal tube, even though it had been nearly 4 days. Thankfully the blood transfusion had long been stopped and she brushed his forehead with her other hand.

"Peter? Wake up. My hand's gone asleep".

Dazed, he woke feeling the tips of her fingers across his skin.

"Sorry", he said, sitting up, a developing red mark on his cheek from where he had been leaning on her. "You were both asleep when I arrived and I didn't want to disturb either of you", he said, rubbing his palm across his face. He glanced at the clock. They had been asleep for almost the two hours of visiting.

"Don't apologise" she said, flexing her hand feeling the coldness of blood rushing its way back through her veins. "It's been tiring few days"

He took her hand again. "How are you feeling?"

"You know me. I'd bounce if I fell from a bridge".

"Camilla", she heard, hearing warning in his voice.

"Feeling better by the day. I managed three lengths of the corridor and back just after lunch. Tomorrow I am going to try the grounds. Did you give Sister Julienne my list?"

"I did. Sister Evangelina said she will come to the evening visit with it all."

"Make sure she remembers a coat for me too so we can go outside". She was desperate for fresh air, hoping it may put some colour back in her cheeks.

"I will. Sister Julienne did ask if we had thought of a name yet as well", he said, nodding to the bottom of the bed where their son lay in his cot.

"I know. The girls have asked me too."

"Well how about family names?" he offered.

"Well we can't call him after my father. If I shouted Rex down the street most of the local dogs would come running". Peter could not help but smile. He had never met his father in law quite yet and it may be a long time before he did, but there was no way on earth his son would carry that name.

"Besides, no, he will not be called after my father regardless", she continued, almost reading his mind

"I didn't know your father's name was 'Regardless'" he replied, smiling, lightening the mood.

"You are getting too smart for you own good, Mister" she replied, trying not to laugh as it hurt. "Just a shame one can't do anything about it".

He kissed the back of her hand.

"Yet" he continued, smiling.

"Would you like him to be called Peter?" She had thought he might insist on it.

"No. Middle name maybe, but he's his own man".

"Your Dad is William. That's better. William Peter?"

"I don't know. Two of my cousins are called William".

"Potentially too confusing then with the amount of time your family are all together" she mused.

"Your brothers?"

"Too much for Poplar. Can you imagine shouting 'Jeremy Alexander Francis Noakes' down the street?" She said as haughtily as she could imagine, picking the least complicated of her brother's names. He couldn't quite imagine her yelling for her children down the street, but he saw her point.

"Edward?"

"My grandfather's name. I don't want him named after any of my family".

"Ted is alright through".

"I had a bear called Ted when I was 6 so I am not naming my child after stuffed toy".

Down at foot of the bed she could see he was waking up, feet fighting against the white cotton blanket he was wrapped in.

"He must know we are talking about him. Bring him to me Peter. He'll want feeding before long and I hate ringing for the nurses".

"They are there to help you know", he said putting her hand back down and standing to walk towards the baby.

"I know, but I need to be independent and the sooner that happens the better. I think sitting in bed bored all day is making me tired as well".

"Alright" he said, bringing his still sleeping son over.

Chummy winced as she sat up properly to receive him.

"Are you sure you don't need me to do anything or get anything before I go?" he asked, gently laying the baby in her arms

"No. All present and correct, apart from that spare pillow?" she asked gesturing across the room.

Seeing the pillow brought to her as she tried to make herself as comfortable as possible her thoughts fell to her evening visitors. He had been to every visiting since the baby had been born, morning, afternoon and evening even thought he had started another week of night shifts.

"Are you still on nights?"

"Yes" he replied, tucking the blanket around the baby's feet, hearing him briefly fussing at the attention.

"Well go back to Nonnatus and sleep. We'll still be here for tomorrow evening visits" she said, feeling the baby stretch and take hold of her index finger.

"No. I'll come to morning visiting too".

"Peter."

The tone of her voice took his attention away from the baby. "No. I will be here. My shift finishes at 7 and I have to see the Inspector after that but I can get here for 11".

"Inspector?"

"I'm going to ask him for a few days leave and I am hoping that he will let me know when a house will be ready for us as well. He said to go and see him when he was born as he might be able to move us up the list".

"At last. I know I am not going to be able to bear it without our own private front door for much longer. As much as I love them all, I just want to be alone with you and him".

"Well I will do my best and report back!" he said with a smile.

"Have a think about a name too" she said.

"I will".

He stood up, leant down and kissed his son on his forehead and his wife on her cheek in preparation to leave.

"What was that?" she asked. "If that was a goodbye kiss, one doesn't think it qualifies".

He sat on the bed, so glad to see she was being cheeky towards him again, and with his hands on her face, kissed her in a manner that could only be described as 'properly'. She only asked as he anchored her and knowing how close she came, seeing him, holding his hand, kissing him, cuddling the baby were the only things that made her feel that she had escaped.

Gently he shut the door behind him as he heard his wife say to his son.

"Could I have some inspiration from you, hey? Just a little".

Two steps away, he suddenly remembered he had a message to impart and she saw his head appear around the door again.

"Fred said not to forget what you talked about. He said you would know what he meant".

As he shut the door and she heard his feet walk away, a thought struck.


	9. Chapter 9

"Blast it, blast it, _blast it_!" she cursed with increasing annoyance at the sight before her.

A flat tyre was all she needed. A _flat tyre_ on a freezing cold March night, more than a generous couple of miles walk from Nonnatus House.

Chummy bundled her coat around her neck, buttoning it up as high as she could and stepped out from the tenement block. 'Oh for a scarf or an extra slip' she thought as the chill wind ripped around her ankles. A healthy boy had been born, wrapped up safe in the warmth of his mother's love and numerous blankets. She pictured the fire that the boy's proud grandmother had stoked and tried to imagine the warmth carrying her home to Nonnatus.

She began to walk, wheeling her bicycle, setting herself a brisk pace; hating every second of the cold that bit at her face. Even in the glorious warmth of India, she could still cold scratching its bitter, vicious claws down her skin. She shivered at the thought and imagined the comfort of her bed, the newly stoked fire and the cup of tea she was going to make herself as soon as she returned.

The sky was so clear, dotted with only the occasional star and she breathed in the peace that surrounded her as her bike stuttered its way beside her.

Rounding the corner onto Chrisp Street she saw him.

He was on his own too, his bicycle propped up against a lamp post as he checked the safety of a padlock on one of the many warehouse doors. She had to pass him to get up onto the Dock Road and there was no way of avoiding him. She paused for a second; not that she did want to avoid him when she came to think about it. It had been nearly 4 weeks since that stuttering, shy encounter in the kitchen when under the formidable force of Sister Evangelina he had made his confession and she had found comfort in his company.

By the time she had wheeled her bicycle closer to him; he had turned and noticed her presence.

He looked down, saw the flat tyre and smiled at her.

"That looks unfortunate".

"It is" she replied, unhappily.

"Well, I don't think I can help you very much it, but can I walk with you?"

Camilla was pleasantly surprised. "Of course you can. I'm going back home".

"Good. You know I…" he stopped himself; hesitant at pushing himself forward, fearful of frightening her.

"I know?" she replied, nervous as what he was about to say. As much as loved these words he would say to her

"It's dangerous around here and you shouldn't be walking around here alone at night".

She imagined he saw more of the less savoury side of the East End than she ever did but she knew that nobody would touch a midwife on her rounds.

She nodded at him, touched by the concern he had for her. With her current predicament she had no choice to walk, so it would be nice to have some company. He had been an utmost gentleman on their now three trips to the cinema, never even attempted to hold her hand or even kiss her cheek although he had crooked his arm towards her, which she had taken readily.

She liked him and, for a change, felt comfortable in the company of a man. She had already reasoned to herself though that this acquaintance would come to nothing. She would like him to be someone she could call a friend though.

By the time they were half way up Chrisp Street and after he had gently teased her about the flat tyre, she felt drops of rain. They took refuge, sitting in a recess out of the night air and sudden shower; the brevity of the space meaning they were crammed together. For a moment she thought it highly inappropriate to be sitting _quite that close_ to him. He was lovely and warm though, bundled up in full uniform, cape and leather gloves and for a moment she let herself wonder what it would feel like to have his arm linked in hers again; perhaps even have her hand in his.

She stopped herself; that was a path she knew it was a pointless road to take herself down. After all, he had been pleasant to her, amiable, and she had enjoyed their dates but beyond that? Why would he? She felt it was bordering on God's miracle that he had even paid her a moment's attention.

"I was going to come by and see you tomorrow", he said, rubbing his gloved hands together against the chill.

"Oh?" She suddenly felt nervous.

"I was thinking," he said. "Would you like to go up to the West End on Saturday?"

Chummy couldn't help the smile that involuntarily crossed her face. "West End?"

"Mum was given some theatre tickets, but she and Dad are going to see her sister for the weekend. She gave them to me to see if you wanted to go. Well, actually she gave them to me and _told_ _me_ to take you".

She had already decided she liked his mother, even though she had never met her. It suddenly dawned on her as well that his mother knew about her too. He must have said something. It was quite the thing that his mother knew about her and she was quite shocked. It would take some time to slowly sink in that he might just think her important enough to mention her to his family.

"I would love to", she replied, unconsciously mirroring his actions in trying to warm up his hands, even though she was wearing woollen gloves they were no match for a Poplar night.

"Here", he said, taking both of her hands, wrapping them in his. "Better?"

Camilla was pleased it was dark so he could not really see the smile she was trying to suppress. "Yes, much".

_So here I was at one time having endured being paraded like a prize heifer in front of potential suitors, none of which I could bear to even contemplate, yet my Policeman's mother was encouraging him to take me out. 'My' Policeman? I scolded myself. The word had slipped out subconsciously, but perhaps that small corner of my mind knew the truth. _

_When I came to the East End I have to admit I was more than a little enthusiastic about its setting and I think Mater was only reassured that I would work with Nuns; an environment where I would not "get myself into difficulties". I had not realised what she meant at first. Now that I did though, I would become extremely vague about my current understanding with a certain Constable Noakes. I had to be. As much as I was hesitant; maybe he was the chap that I hoped I could have found.  
_

_He walked me right up to the very door of Nonnatus House - 'just to make sure you are safe' he had said to me. He had no need to walk up those 15 steps but he did and it made me feel wonderful. _

_Nobody had ever told me that they wanted to see me safe before. _

_It was quite the new concept._

_EK_


	10. Chapter 10

"So what are we going to do on Saturday?" he asked, taking hold of the cup of tea that had been placed on the table in front of him some minutes ago.

"Saturday?" she replied absently, her back to him as she piled the supper dishes to the side of the sink.

"Yes. Your birthday, in case you forgot".

"I don't know" she replied. "I can't really say I've given it a second's attention". He watched curiously wondering why she had almost dismissed it, turning the taps on the sink, ready to work her way through the supper dishes.

"Well we have to do something" he replied, seeing her run her fingers through the water as it heated up. "I know I have to work during the day and I know our celebration in Sierra Leone got usurped by your little announcement, but..."

"You know we never really celebrated birthdays" she said with a hint of wistfulness interrupting him. "You know Mater just used to send me a parcel".

When they had discussed their childhoods in the past he was quite shocked that the sum total of her family's recognition of her birthday was a parcel through the post. He remembered the chaos that usually ensued when he was a child with all his cousins; that many of them that barely a month would go by without a family gathering of some sort. Whilst there may not have been very much money to spare in the Noakes household, every child always had a birthday party; even though it usually involved each of those children running wild and eating Granny Jane's cake until it came out of their ears.

"I was always at school" she continued. "The parcel was always the same as well. A book, ribbons or hair grips, letter writing set and a Scrabble game one year. Ma always put more stamps too in as the school never gave us enough for letters home."

"You had your 21st though?"

"It was full of elderly relatives and feckless fools that Mater was trying to marry me off to. That was when he gave me that necklace".

'That necklace' was the one she had asked him to take to the bank for safekeeping before they married when, horrified, he had learnt that she kept a 2 carat diamond at Nonnatus.

"I always knew I had birthdays to make up for. We could have a celebration this year".

"I don't want one" she said, turning to him, temporarily drying her hands. "Please Peter, no party. Freddie can have all the parties he wants when he is older, but not me".

He stood up, taking his empty tea cup to the side with him. He put his hands on her hips.

"Are you sure?" he asked, knowing that that only reason that she said 'no' was that for some reason she still wondered why he would make a fuss.

"Yes, really. No party".

He ducked his head for a moment, shifting closer to her. "Alright," he said, "but we have to do something. Just the three of us".

"Well you think of something, but just us".

He nodded and leant up to kiss her in acceptance. How on earth did she think she wasn't worth the time and effort of a celebration?

He would however, with the assistance of their six month old son, do as she wished.

_Four days later….._

"Peter?" she said, closing the front door behind her having pushed Freddie's pram into the hallway.

The house was deathly quiet and in partial darkness. She glanced at her watch. Half past 6. Even with the best will in the world there was no way he would be in bed and his shift finished an hour and a half ago.

"Peter?" she asked, raising her voice slightly, extracting her son from the comfort of his blankets. "Do _you_ know where your Daddy has gone, sweetheart?" she asked as his small hand grasped hold of her coat collar.

She pushed the kitchen door to find it empty of life, followed by the dining room door that was also devoid of occupation. Hearing a pronounced cough behind her though she found him leaning on the door frame of the sitting room with a hand held out towards her.

"Take your coat off".

Being led into the room she saw the low coffee table, bedecked in a white lace table cloth that she recognised, tea cups, various covered plates and in the middle a white iced cake

"One candle?" she remarked immediately.

"Yes. Every year the candles will grow so when we are 90 there will be more candles than cake".

"That's not the way to do it. More cake should always come first!" she joked, going to sit on the settee with Freddie on her lap.

"No" he said walking them both away from hear seat. "Birthday parties involve sitting on the floor and no knives or forks".

"Did you do this?"

"Yes. Well partially. Mum helped. Now sit down".

He reached by the cake and produced matches as an interested hand tried to grab for the box. "No", she said, moving the baby's hands away. "No pyromaniac tendancies until you are at least 18".

He smiled as she heard the scratch of the match against the strip on the side of the box. The single candle was lit.

"Come on blow it out and make a wish".

Gently she put a hand on her son's head shielding him from the flame as she blew the candle out. She closed her eyes as she heard the plate clink against the table.

"One wish made" she said, smiling at him before she paused. "Am I meant to tell you it?"

He paused. "Just tell me if it comes true".

She nodded. Her wish that she would keep to herself, hopefully only for the least time possible, was that by this time next year she would feel confident enough to retract her plea for 'no party'.

"Close your eyes".

She eyed him suspiciously.

"Close your eyes and pass me your hand".

"One can't just tear it off you know".

"Camilla..!"

With a smile she closed her eyes willingly, one hand holding Freddie to her and the other reached out in front of her. She felt him put something around her wrist.

She opened them to find a most exquisite bracelet of delicate peridot stones set in yellow gold.

"The jeweller said it was made the same year you were born".

It had caught his eye a few days after they came back from Sierra Leone and she was worth every penny of it, only bought from a Jeweller who kept it back for him and trusted him to pay in bits and bobs because he was a policeman.

"It is. Its lovely". She said turning the stones in the minimal light. "Thank you". She said reaching across to kiss him and on the receiving end of an attempt to deepen the kiss. Both of them felt two small hands touch their chins.

She saw a half smile as he leant down a blew a raspberry against his sons cheek, which set off the rather wonderful but worryingly insane laugh that Freddie had developed these past months. For a second, Chummy thought, life was truly perfect.

"Are you pouring that tea or not then?" she asked, placing a kiss to her son's hair before letting her head rest against the settee cushion.

She watched through half open eyes as he poured their tea. "Thank you. So what has your Mum made for us then?"

With a flourish, he took off the and passed her a plate.

"Doesn't one get waiter service? It is my birthday after all".

"Do I have to choose for you as well?"

"Yes" she said taking a sip of tea as she watched the cake being sliced and various other sweet things placed on her plate before he settled properly to her side.

"This is lovely – thank you".

"My pleasure".

"In fact I think it's perfect. Thank you for listening to me. For doing what I asked".

"The last thing I want to do is upset you. A party would have upset you".

"I do wish I could just say 'yes go ahead' with it all".

"We used to have parties" he said, reminiscing of what had been a chaotic but wonderful childhood. "Every year. There was all my cousins ones as well. My favourite was my 12th because I got a second hand bicycle. Except I got it taken off me for a week".

"Why?"

"I gave my brother a black eye in the middle of the party", he confessed.

"What?" she asked, quite surprised, particulary as she had never even heard him swear in all the time they had known each other, let alone be violent.

"Dad just said everything was fine one minute and then next I threw myself at Philip. Uncle Tom had to separate us before we took the table with us. I have no idea what he said to me".

"Teddy and I always used to fight. I think that's why Mater didn't like us".

"Fist fights?" he asked, surprised.

"Sometimes" she said. "I broke his nose when I was 11".

"I thought you were a lady" he said, seeing his son eyeing up the food that was a foot or two away from him, leaning forward in a vain attempt at thievery.

"Is he alright to have some of this?" he asked.

"He thoroughly worked his way through a disproportionately large bowl of stewed apple at lunchtime so try ahead".

"Mater never found out about our fights", she said carrying on seeing a small pinch of sponge being more than well received . "Teddy would just say he fell over on the path or off his bicycle. One wonders if she hated us as we decided to be born so close together".

"Philip and I were only 11 months apart. Mum didn't hate us for it".

"Your Mum is wonderful that's why. If I ever turn out like my mother with him please tell me".

He shook his head. "You won't, because you know how not to be with him", he said, feeding another corner of sponge to the baby receiving a squeal in response as little legs kicked at his mothers.

"I will take your word for it. Besides one never thought I would ever have a child of my own, never expected to be sitting here now with you both anyway".

"Well you are and I am thankful for it; for you deciding to come to Poplar, for being mad enough to say 'yes' to me".

"Not mad. Quite the contrary" she said, taking his chin as she kissed him.

He handed her her tea cup and raised his.

"A toast then", he said. "To Mrs Noakes, my wife and Fred's Mum".

"Our perfect party of three" she smiled.

_"Happy Birthday!"_


	11. Chapter 11

Blissfully asleep, she remained undisturbed as Peter negotiated his way around their bedroom after what had been a typical late shift filled with drunks, more drunks and the rather uninteresting case of the sleeping dog found between the station bins.

With each step he tried not to knock into anything remembering the incident, only 3 days after they had moved into the married quarters, he decided to negotiate his new surroundings in the dark. He regretted it, when trying to find the edge of the bed with his hand; he missed and fell forward, nearly breaking a wrist as he landed on the lino with a wife-waking thump.

He glanced at the clock that read almost midnight and now more used to his new setting he was able to feel his way to get into his pyjamas without any further incident or bodily injury.

He slid into bed wrapping his arm around her waist, regrettably disturbing her a little more than he hoped. As he settled, he immediately wondered how many layers she was actually wearing. It was cold, he appreciated that; but there was wool, satin and...

"Camilla?" he whispered.

"Hmmm?"

"Are you wearing bed socks?"

"Yes, " she replied matter of factly as sleepily she opened her eyes. "It's like the bally antarctic in here and has been for hours".

"Even with the nightdress, bed jacket and," he paused as he counted them "1, 2, 3 blankets?"

"Yes and the socks are yours and they are odd too" she replied, entirely unworried about his reaction, now so comfortable that any concerns that she perhaps ought to have had about how her husband ought to perceive her, had been washed away a long while ago.

She felt him laugh and budge closer to her.

"I don't know", he replied, teasing her. "Married 4 months and we have already got to the threshold of theft _and_ odd bed socks. I dread to think what we will be like in 20 years time!"

"I know I am supposed" she replied, turning over to face him, "as a new wife, to be all appealing and available to my husband in my night attire, but if you ask me to take them off or even remotely try to take them off yourself you will see the wrong side of me".

There was silence for a moment as she settled on his shoulder, before Peter piped up, nonchalantly,"I wore two pairs of long socks to work today".

Camilla laughed, even though her response was dripping with sarcasm. "Oh! The prospect of that sight! What did I miss being on call this morning?"

"I will be wearing 2 pairs of under shorts as well tomorrow if this goes on".

"Do you know I doubt I will be able to concentrate all day thinking of you walking around Poplar like that!" she said, making herself comfortable again.

He smiled. It was wonderful to see her becoming more confident, believing in herself enough to be just plain cheeky to him as she felt him wind his fingers into hers.

"Your hands are still lovely and warm though. You know I like your warm hands".

"Flattery will get you nowhere" she replied, depositing his hand back onto his stomach.

_"Well can I at least have a kiss?"_


	12. Chapter 12

It was a photograph that Irene Noakes had not seen for years, finding it in a spring clean of the small attic of their retirement home. It must have been in the many boxes that travelled with them from Bow now nearly 2 years ago and it had been years since it must have seen light of day.

Her hands had fallen on it and, as she knelt on the wooden floor, tears sprung to her eyes immediately. _Her boys._ Children in uniform with a date scrawled on the back _'12 January 1944'. _She could not remember which son had written it. She had seated herself on the floor, amongst the dust, for longer than she had realised; too many memories of waving them away running back into the house when they were out of sight and sealing the door behind her, wondering whether she would see her children again.

One was now 34 years of age commanding a respectable job, a wife and a strapping son three days from his first birthday; the other forever just suspended in life, and death, at 17.

She could barely tell them apart; two men scarcely adults in Army uniform side by side, smiling for their mother. A seaside visit with her husband and son to her mother in law had brought the photograph into her hands and she had been asked to take such very good care of it. It was the first time she had seen what would have been Irene's last photograph of her sons together; a gift for her to remember them by. How little did she know it would be, for her youngest son, the last memory that her mother in law would have.

"They look like twins" Chummy mused quietly as she saw Irene smile, one eye on her grandson who was mooching around the small paved space, testing out increasingly strong legs as he hung onto the simple garden chairs and for a moment his grandmother in his circuitous journey.

"When they were small, from the back, there was many time I mixed the little buggers up. The times I thought I was telling off Peter and 'he' turned around and it was Philip. There were days when I would feel so guilty when I would get one of them turn round in tears wondering why I had just boxed their ears".

Chummy smiled at the recollection. From things she had learnt from her husband, it had only been since Fred's birth that she had felt able to speak about her second son.

"They are so like each other", Chummy replied, still staring at the photograph in her hands. She could easily see her husband but the difference between him and his brother was little more than lighter hair.

"Stupid lad went with Peter to the enlistment office. 'For company' he told me and more fool me I let him go! Didn't tell none of us he enlisted until afterwards. He lied and said he was Peter's twin". She paused. "Philip only went because Peter did".

"That boy", she said, gesturing over to where her Peter was helping his father paint a fence, "was only 18 when he went. Saw things no 18 year old should see. I swear he aged 10 years when he came back". She hesitated, knowing that Peter would not talk to her about his brother as he knew it still upset her so. "Does he talk to you about it?"

"Only once in a blue moon" she replied, being able to count on one hand the times he had spoken of the War. "I can't imagine what it was like for him. My mother takes great pride in telling everybody that she had five sons that went to War and came back to her. They were officers. Their war was from behind a desk", Chummy said, trying to take a hint of derision out of her voice. She dare not tell her mother in law that she and her husband's first marital crossed word was when she had pushed him to talk to her about when he became injured and he had become, for a moment, distant and cold with her until he had seen her face and could not stop apologising.

"He's never spoken to me or his Dad about it but you are so much closer to him than I will ever be and I for one am glad about that. Happy he has someone to share those things with when he wants to".

"You know I'll do what I can" she replied, seeing Irene nod.

"When he met you, you were all I heard about".

"Really?"

"Don't be so surprised Camilla. I knew. He would never shut up about you. Every conversation was about you. After everything, how unstable his life had been before he joined the Police, it was lovely to hear that he had finally found someone".

All of a sudden two little eyes appeared over the edge of the table, perilously close to the tea tray and the array of jam tarts and cake that her mother in law had prepared for tea.

"Hello little chap!" Chummy said, smiling at him.

"I think that face is looking for sweet things!" Irene commented, seeing her grandson looking intently at a plate.

"Lemon or blackcurrant?" Chummy asked, holding up two jam tarts.

"Memon", her son replied, not having mastered the letter 'L' quite yet. He had a growing vocabulary almost on a daily basis although admittedly there were times that she had to think twice about some of the permeatations of words he used. Still, there was plenty of time to worry about that.

"Come along then", she said holding out her arms to him. He wobbled a pace or two towards her allowing himself to be picked up and placed sideways on her knee.

As her son sat quietly in her arms, devouring the jam tart with particular vigour, she slowly collected crumbs that were appearing on his blue jumper. She could see Irene watching him.

"My boy is settled at last and I am so glad for that. I don't ask for more apart from a couple of grandchildren thrown in!" Irene added.

"Well we will do our best!" Chummy replied, smiling. Despite the manner in which her son had come into the world, she had resolved to herself that Fred would have brothers or sisters. She did suppose the fact that she remembered little of his birth had not hindered her decision and that she had been told in no uncertain terms that her next child would be born before she even had the opportunity feel the first contraction.

"Mama", came a little voice, crumbs everywhere.

"Yes darling?"

"Back", he replied, pointing to the tray. It was probably intended to be 'black' for blackcurrant or that he wanted to go back down but she tried his usual route of seconds of everything first.

"Another one?" she said, reaching across.

"Very well my little lead weight, but last one!" She knew saying 'last one' was entirely futile and they had had an extremely early breakfast so, as her son's life revolved around his stomach and crashing around with his walker, she did not complain. The jam tart was set about quickly as she noticed her mother in law watching Peter and his father.

"I got him back to give me you two. So many others I knew could never even bury their children". How many mothers she had seen, neighbours, friends, desperate for that next letter scrawled in a trench, dreading the 'Angel of Death' - the Post Office telegraph boy - with that piece of typed paper in his hand.

A jam tart with three bites out of it was pushed into Chummy's hand and her son slid off her knee and tottered in the direction of his grandfather across the grass.

"Come here you little monkey!" Peter said, who had downed his paint brush, and 'chased' after his son who took off in the opposite direction, staggering away.

The next thing that the four adults in the garden heard was squealing and giggling at the child who was hanging upside down in his father's arms.

"Peter be careful, he's just nearly demolished two jam tarts! One doesn't wish to see them again".

"He'll be fine. Won't you Freds?" The boy giggled feeling his father blow a raspberry against his cheek.

"Son, would you like some tea?"

"Just water please Mum" he replied, walking over to them, seeing his mother leave her seat to collect a glass of water for him as Peter took up her place with Fred in his arms, draped sideways, arms and legs everywhere.

"Where did that come from?" he asked seeking the picture on the table.

"Your Mum gave it to me".

"I often wonder what he would be like now you know," he replied, lifting his son so he was sitting properly on his knee before picking up the photograph. "He'd be 33. I could have been an uncle and I do wish he could have met you and Fred".

Chummy smiled at him, not quite sure how to approach a subject that she had thought about for a while.

"If we have another little boy one day" she asked. "Can we call him Philip?"

Peter hesitated. His brother had been dead for 15 years now but he still knew his mother cried over him and something had been missing from his father for far too many years that he cared to mention.

"You know I'd like us to have a houseful, Camilla" he whispered, sticky fingers from his son beating time on his palms. "Shall we speak to Mum about it first? When the time comes? Ask her permission".

She nodded, trying desperately not to smile. "You do realise we will have to speak to her before we go home then?"


	13. Chapter 13

"Just how bally tiny is this cabin?!" Chummy exclaimed, seeing the space before them.

At her side, Peter surveyed their new home for the next 10 days on board the boat for their journey to Cadiz.

"Its cramped, I will give you that" he replied, only just about missing cracking his head on a shelf that was hidden beside the door.

"I suppose we can put the suitcases under the bed and just put our essentials in the wardrobe, " she said, looking around herself. "Lord knows where we are going to sit!"

"Well there I suppose", he said, pointing towards the bed. "Sleep and sit in the same place".

She laughed as they tried to manoeuvre around the cabin, sliding past each other like some sort of stilted, comical dance so that they could take off their coats. She couldn't help but laugh, remembering those times where they had tried and failed to dance in those early days and the moment, just four days ago when they had spent their last night in the small redbrick house where they had said goodbye to it where he had been attempting at twirling her around feeling Baby's kicks just as much as she was.

She had little hope of bending down now, approaching her 35th week, so he found himself on his knees pushing the suitcases under the bed, having pulled out their sleep wear and basic toiletries.

"A hand?" he said jokingly, from his place on the floor, precisely level with her growing stomach. She did however hold out both hands for him as he staggered up.

"You realise that if we want to get changed it will have to be one at a time?" he said, rummaging in his pocket. "Toss a coin?"

His wife always complained about her long arms and legs but you would have had to have been a child to get changed without causing yourself some injury. She lost the flip of the coin as to who would go second, so he sat at watched, even though she kept giving him disconcerted looks. As much as she knew he loved her she still had those feelings of self consciousness of being surveyed, especially as her belly had started to grow, feeling top heavy and at times as though she physically stood out more than ever.

It was odd, whilst in Sierra Leone, she had been treated with nothing but respect for her presence, even whilst growing more and more expectant by the day, but she knew in London those looks would appear again. It would particularly be true as she had it very much in the forefront of her mind to go back to work for a few weeks.

"Stop watching me" she said as she undressed seeing him lying sideways on the bed so his feet were not within tripping distance.

"Why?"

"Look out of the porthole or something!", she replied, shaking the creases from her nightdress.

"Its night".

"Read a book then" she said, as she hooked her hair behind her ears, shooting him glances still feeling deeply conspicuous.

"Why? Am I not allowed to look at my beautiful wife?"

She raised an eyebrow to herself as she smoothed her nightdress over her stomach.

"Why do you always say things that are guaranteed to make me cry now?"

He stood up and took her hands, seeing her eyes fill with water.

"I'm not going to apologise", he replied softly, seeing her laugh briefly in response.

"Once this little one is out and about all of these blasted stupid tears will just whizz away, I promise" she said as he leant up and kissed her, maneouvering her to where he had been seated.

"Sit down and let me get changed and you can be as disparaging as you like".

"One might read a book" she said, pausing. "It's more interesting..." She saw him smile and shake his head at her teasing. "I will retain that for future reference!"

He changed and lay down next to her as she turned to her side, her stomach resting against him.

"Are you sure you are alright?" he asked, remembering for his own part how difficult it had actually been to leave that house that they had made their home for the past six months. It was a place they would probably never visit again but it held such wonderful memories - where they had grown as people, where they had learnt of their family and where, he certainly felt, they had a stronger marriage to boot.

"Yes. One knows we only left four days ago, but N'Jaiama just seems years away now. A different time".

"Yes, it does. Although I am so very glad we went".

"So am I".

"I am looking forward to going home though; seeing everybody".

"Mmmm" she replied, nodding her head. "Yes it will be wonderful to see everybody although I am quite apprehensive about it all".

"Why?"

"Look at me!" she said, a hand splayed by her side emphasising her current state.

"I didn't mean that!" he replied, rubbing his hand over her stomach, feeling no movement in response.

"I am starting to think I should have written and told everyone", she continued, having been so resolved not to tell everybody so that she could see the surprise on their faces. Now, however, they were days away from Poplar and nervous anticipation had set in.

"They will be happy Camilla"

"Yes, I know. You know I am no good at being the centre of attention though".

"Well you are, this time. I'm thoroughly looking forward to telling Mum and Dad. I can't wait for them to see you when we go and visit".

"It just feels the same as when we arrived at the Mission. Everybody will want to know about Sierra Leone and I am not convinced I have words to describe how it was, not truly. I am not sure I can find the words".

"But regrets?"

"None. As much as I was hesitant, it was very much the right thing to do".

"New isn't so bad", he said. "Mind you, I never expected to spend 6 months in the Colonial Police or spend my first wedding anniversary in a tiny cabin on a boat somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic".

"A year" she said wistfully as she saw him look at his watch.

"364 days, 11 hours and 1 minute".

Camilla just laughed and whispered "Only you". As much as she was capable of she turned to kiss him, only just about catching his lips.

"We will have a proper anniversary when we get back. We will go out to the dining rooms like we used to", he said. "Sit in that booth in the back". It had been their favourite place throughout their courtship; tucked away at the back of the room in the low lights, being able to talk and enjoy each other's company without interruption. It had also been their choice of their 'last supper' the night before they left Poplar.

"Do you know what I want?" she said, her chin on his shoulder, looking at him through eyelashes.

"Pray tell" he said, making himself more comfortable and perhaps expecting her to ask him to sleep on the floor as this was not a bed made for three.

"Chips, absolutely drowned in vinegar, white bread and butter and whelks and a bowl of custard to finish off".

He laughed, not expecting that answer. "Not all together, surely?"

He had found himself quite able to deal with the food cravings she had had whilst in Sierra Leone. Oranges that he would buy from the market between the Police Station and the Mission had kept her quite happy and quiet for weeks. There was also the ginger she would convert into the strongest ginger beer he had ever tasted.

"No, certainly not all together! You know I missed our lunchtimes down by the canal, sitting on that bench trying not to get chip fat on our uniforms".

"Well we can start that again and when the Bean arrives we can start to take him or her too. You could both meet me for lunch every single day". She smiled at the thought of turning up at the Police Station pushing a pram until he saw her shift trying to flex her back.

"Comfortable?"

"As I can be. Your mention of your child has woken Baby up".

His arm tightened around her shoulders. Despite the fact they were lying in each others arms, neither was particularly at ease in this tiny bed. She was sure that their child was nocturnal as it only seemed to move when she was trying to rest or sleep and Peter could feel the shifting form that was pressed into his side trying to create as much room as he or she could between parents. To Chummy it was starting to become painful.

"I don't think Baby likes this" she said, pulling a face.

"I can feel elbows".

"That's a knee. Elbows are down here" she replied, rubbing just over her hip.

"If you're not comfortable , do you want me to sleep on the floor?"

"No", she replied, voice slightly raised. "Don't be silly. Baby will have to make do", she continued, rubbing her stomach in an attempt at soothing. They both felt the boat jolt.

"Are we moving?" he asked suddenly.

She lay still for moment.

"I think we are", she replied a shot of sudden anxious excitement running through her.

"I think we're going home!"


	14. Chapter 14

**_I am so lucky to have him. He would never dream of hurting me._**

**_He's a man, no? All men hurt you. Body or your head. They hurt you. _**

**_No they don't. He doesn't._**

"You are awfully quiet" he said, having watched her, distracted from a book that had not had a page turned in several minutes.

"Hmmm?" she replied, lifting her head, the combination of tiredness and the nocturnal heat in the small sitting room, making her feel quite unsteady of mind and body, even though she was firmly seated on the floor.

"Quiet. You. Mrs Noakes. Awfully", he said, putting one of his now well-travelled law books down by the hearth.

"Sorry", she said smiling at him in usual jollity, although he could see that the smile did not reach her eyes.

"You are not still worried about that baby last night?" he asked, recalling the reason for the fact she had been awake now for 16 hours but still could not sleep.

"Not really", she said, putting her unread book down across her lap.

"So what is it? I don't like you this quiet Camilla", he said, shuffling across the floor to sit next to her, propping himself up on the edge of the well worn settee.

"Oh" she sighed. "It's nothing. Silliness", she continued, waving her hand abstractly, going to take up the book again.

"What I have told you about telling me you are silly?" he asked, removing the book from her hands, ensuring the page was marked even though he was not completely sure that a single word on that page had been digested.

"Not to".

"Precisely. So tell me what's wrong".

He saw her frown and heard a long sigh.

"It was just something Elisabette said when we were coming back to the Mission afterwards about that baby's mother today...well yesterday" she corrected herself, realising that the mid afternoon delivery was hours and hours ago.

"About?"

"Men" she replied, simply.

"Men?" he replied, not entirely sure where this conversation might go. "One in particular or us in general?"

"In general" she paused. "Well, and you particularly".

"Me?" Peter did not know whether he was intrigued or not at her statement. He found Elisabette, his wife's fellow Midwife at the Mission, a touch cloying in her manner, but she was pleasant enough and not afraid of her own opinion or her own shadow for that. He quite liked a woman not afraid to speak her mind and voice an opinion. His wife was getting better at it day by day and there had been times, moreso now they were in Sierra Leone, that she had answered him back and he had been forced to disguise a smile, even though by rights he should have (in his capacity as husband and head of household) ensured she kept her place.

"That mother" she carried on. "She was covered in bruises; there was the shape of fingers on her leg like someone had had hold of it. I am sure she had been kicked in the back as well. I couldn't say anything to her, not even to ask her how she got them. Elisabette noticed it as well and when we were driving back she asked me if you had ever hit me. When I said no, she didn't believe me".

"I would never hit you". He was quite appalled by the thought. He was no fool; he knew that violence was nothing new between husband and wife, whether it was Sierra Leone or Poplar but the thought of him laying a hand on her that was not out of love, comfort or desire, appalled him.

"I know, but it just made me think" she replied, turning slightly to look him in the eye.

"You have been so wonderful to me, coming here, letting me do this. You could have just said no and there would be nothing I could ever have done about it".

"You know I find it difficult refusing you anything, Camilla". When it had come to it, the thought of travelling to Sierra Leone with her quite excited him and any reservations he might have had had been firmly swept away.

"And if you ever hit me I would just have to live it with and wonder what I did wrong to make you do it".

"Listen to me", he said, turning her head properly with his fingertips.

"That first day I was on patrol here I was told that if a woman came up to me in the street and complained to me about her father, uncle, her husband or her brothers that I was to dismiss it. Even if they did raise a complaint, I was just told not to interfere if women were 'disciplined'. It doesn't mean that I have to accept it or understand it".

"I know the law back home says I am your chattel…."

"Camilla!"

"It's true. Peter. I belong to you for you to do what you wish with. That mother today was 18 and that was her_ third_ child. She had her first when she was 15. Three babies in three years so young, it was no wonder her body was breaking down. I had to tell her husband 'no more babies' and he looked at me like I had just committed the most horrific murder. I was still at school when I was 15, thinking of how one day I would come to Africa and try to change the things I read in the Church Times! How silly of me that I thought I could" she concluded with a forced laugh.

"This place is changing Camilla. You don't realise what you are actually doing".

"It all just seems so unfair. You love me, you are gentle with me, you make me tea and lump pails of water to fill that wretched tin bath for me. That poor girl has 3 babies, barely any food or clothes and a husband that sees fit to abuse her and a family that accepts it. You never uttered a word of objection to coming here".

"I won't say I wasn't nervous about it, but I'm enjoying it. This place will have some wonderful memories for us".

She smiled as she knew what he meant – of her shy confession only 4 days previously that they would shortly become three. How ironic it had been she had thought, when she had talked to the girls about going before the pitter patter of tiny feet made themselves known, that Mother Nature had already had her way with her. She had hidden the calendar that she had temporarily purloined from the Mission as she, for two days, churned over the mathematics in her mind until she was entirely sure.

Chummy returned his smile and this time it did extend to her eyes. One thing she would never forget was the wash of anxiety she felt laying in the tin bath a few days before, legs far too long for it, it dawning on her that the notion of pregnancy she had had before they left was no longer a suspicion any more now that almost another month had passed. In the moment's peace she had lying in that bath her world altered irrevocably. He had appeared moments later bearing a mug of tea and kissed her and she thought that second she might just tell him instead of the rather romantic plan she had concocted to tell him about his child. She refrained though, suddenly panicking not knowing how to say the actual words.

A few days later, when the calendar confirmed that she was right, they were sitting by the fire and she put her plan into motion. The second thing that she would never forget was his face at her news.

"I know I complain endlessly about the way I was brought up, but one could have been born here with a husband that thought it was acceptable to lay his hands on me days before I gave birth".

He could see that her eyes were becoming glassy as she wrapped his hand in hers, letting her speak. Sometimes just listening to her was all that she needed, starting to learn her cues and wants.

"I didn't know whether I wanted to stay in London all of my life" she said. "One hoped that there might have been somebody along the way, but I just wanted to come here and stay here and I didn't think that that poor chap might not want to be trailing after me or he might want to marry me. If some fool did want to a put a ring on my finger, he might just pat me on the head and tell me not to be a silly girl with all these fantasies. I know we have only been here a few weeks, but it's time I paid more attention to you as you sacrificed so much for my ideals".

"You do pay me attention Camilla and being here hasn't been a sacrifice; far from it. How many coppers on the beat in Poplar can add six months in the Colonial Police to their prospects of being promoted? You know the Inspector was positively enthusiastic about it" he said, remembering with some apprehension his approach to his superior, but having been greeted with nothing but support. "I want to support you. Remember what I said? What is the use of aspirations if you can't or won't chase them? You know I have the utmost faith in you Camilla".

"Faith aside Peter, you had to put your examinations back" she replied, still feeling altogether far too guilty he had put his future on hold for her.

"Only by a few months. New Year instead, probably, and there isn't a Sergeant's job to be going for until at least next February when Bill Fletcher goes off. The only difference it makes is more months of my head being buried in a book and me driving you to distraction asking you to test me!"

"I quite enjoy that. I've learned a tremendous amount about prostitution, fraud and gambling! I know what I can get away with now!" she smiled, thinking she could probably do relatively well in his examinations too.

"It was a thoroughly good idea of yours and you know I don't care where we are as long as we are together. _Us three together_" he said putting his hand on her non-existent belly .

She leant across and kissed him.

"Besides you are rather lovely all expecting".

"You won't say that when I need help getting off the settee in 6 months time" she replied, not entirely joking.

"I will. Might have to do it again".

"Let me have this one first!" she replied, a look of horror crossing her face.

"The first of a house full" he replied, knowing his own feelings towards the prospect of children with her, wanting to be surrounded the evidence of just exactly how much they loved each other even if that proof was screaming the house down, throwing up or crying their hearts out over a scraped knee.

"You won't say that when we are tripping over each other!"

"I hope I can be someone that he or she is proud of", he replied, suddenly serious, determined that by the time this baby was one - a deadline he had set himself - that he would be promoted.

"All our children will be proud of you. What were you saying to me before about aspirations and faith?"

He nodded as she put her other hand over her mouth, concealing a yawn.

"Do you think you can sleep now?"

She nodded and smiled as he got up from the floor, seeing her raise her hand at him.

"Start practising then! Help me up!"

He laughed at her, assisting her off the floor, both of them realising without words, just exactly how lucky they had been to find each other and this place.

That night, she slept fitfully and peacefully, waiting for the dawning of a new day.


End file.
